tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8287522326048115392024-02-10T17:04:29.286+00:00Fearlessly Attempting Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.comBlogger114125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-49397069236657501842023-10-19T16:29:00.002+01:002023-10-19T16:41:23.854+01:00Beets me<p> One of my favourite experiments in the veg patch is growing something we think we don't like. </p><p>My reasoning goes that if you can taste something picked at its best, prepared freshly and still dislike it, you've given that food every chance and you never have to try that thing again... but you might be surprised.</p><p>I used to think I didn't much like sprouts until I grew them and harvested them myself. Peas got a lot more interesting to small children who could eat them fresh out of the pod. Somehow red currants off the bush are vastly nicer than those in a supermarket. In fairness kohlrabi remained boring and salsify just wouldn't grow so there's not always a success, but it's a game worth playing. </p><p>In my opinion, the worst family of vegetables is that loathesome Clean Dirt masquerading as food, beets and chard. There's no faster way to destroy a salad than to add some baby chard leaves, or that duplicitous, misnomered leaf Perpetual Spinach. Aside - It's not spinach, it's a chard. The name is to make it sound good when it's actually dreadful. Just accept that spinach bolts and sow it successionally.</p><p>Worst of all is the Root Vegetable of Doom, beetroot. </p><p>I've had it grated raw in salads, pickled, roasted with other veg, added to hummus, as a so called crisp, <strike>ruining</strike> <i>added</i> to a smoothie and god knows what they do to the weird vacuum sealed stuff in the supermarket, but I've had that too. All tasting like a mouthful of earth. At least the pickled one was dirt with added vinegar. </p><p>I'm not alone in this. When my Dad did a bit of vegetable growing in a corner of their herbaceous garden, he was delighted by the success of his beetroot crop. My Mum actually had <i>nightmares</i> about him force-feeding it to her. </p><p>A few years ago I blew a moderate fortune on booking 6 months ahead to take Mark to Tommy Banks's restaurant <a href="https://www.blackswanoldstead.co.uk" target="_blank">The Black Swan at Oldstead</a>*. Don't get me wrong, it was money well spent, it was the meal of a lifetime! What I didn't realise was that one of the signature dishes is a slab of crapaudine beetroot cooked for 5 hours in beef fat or olive oil. Yikes!</p><p>It was absolutely delicious.</p><p>With that in mind, this year I decided to give beets a chance**.</p><p>If Tommy Banks goes to the hassle of growing 14th century French heritage beets, and I really want to give beetroot the best go at being acceptable, I thought I should probably do the same. Crapaudine means toad, a reference to the rough skin on these unusual beets. Only specialist and heritage growers sell the seeds, but there are lots of chef-type recipes specifying them in recipes so I figured they must be worth the hassle.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMLtwyNlp3a2DppiOeqYbN9nxxOgv4EnD6F4fgjn0n1VIZIdVGJMDCzH4qroHtHkccSJ74WlPjQhNGyTVaaiCK5inpr3qB_VuFD6T1ioilPyO6WTnphpfSFnKkxYxFm0QKQox61YPZuGEUlDX5SeVIakzj4op1UJLJeqlTPbnmT-h6RteoFFdEU3UCZ4oN/s4032/IMG_3174.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMLtwyNlp3a2DppiOeqYbN9nxxOgv4EnD6F4fgjn0n1VIZIdVGJMDCzH4qroHtHkccSJ74WlPjQhNGyTVaaiCK5inpr3qB_VuFD6T1ioilPyO6WTnphpfSFnKkxYxFm0QKQox61YPZuGEUlDX5SeVIakzj4op1UJLJeqlTPbnmT-h6RteoFFdEU3UCZ4oN/s320/IMG_3174.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking a bit moth eaten by October<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Germination went quite well. I sowed the seeds direct in May, with a second, less successful sowing in late June. The leaves looked like pretty much standard beets but the root itself is more like a fat parsnip shape than a globe. I wasn't expecting that. Unfortunately, the same problem as I've had with both carrots and parsnips happened with the beets - they hit an obstacle in the soil and split. I had a nice thick cylinder for the top few inches of root, them they split into useless leggy strands.<p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEite06HFEFCgBdkf9ty6q0bf6d2xf_ufmO4ACOJnu1RcdNid0foZNgGAk93V6SLjtAChnnQycPmaK6TIC8uTXvG7FghQlzw5i3pnXw1p2tAnQ5Ad8MvKyf4_rS7MO377M_V_WeSGYLwF5NXb11ps-8rnUOH3zF4SBt_MjZ8vFnMkediS_L0RoAN4mcTicnX/s4032/IMG_3181.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEite06HFEFCgBdkf9ty6q0bf6d2xf_ufmO4ACOJnu1RcdNid0foZNgGAk93V6SLjtAChnnQycPmaK6TIC8uTXvG7FghQlzw5i3pnXw1p2tAnQ5Ad8MvKyf4_rS7MO377M_V_WeSGYLwF5NXb11ps-8rnUOH3zF4SBt_MjZ8vFnMkediS_L0RoAN4mcTicnX/s320/IMG_3181.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Slightly deformed beetroot</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p>Still, I had some healthy looking plants, so was free to experiment.</p><p>First I tried the baby leaves, which I'd been told were good in salads. <b>Nope</b>, they taste exactly like chard and are horrible. The hens were extremely grateful to my picky tastebuds as they got loads of nice leafy treats. Personally, I'd rather go hungry.</p><p>Next, I tried one of the tiny beetroots raw after I'd thinned the row a bit. Dad said they are particularly nice when young. <b>Nope</b>, still like willingly eating dirt. </p><p>When it came to cooking them, I decided on a split approach. I would drizzle some in oil and salt and roast in a tinfoil parcel, and the other I would try approximate the Tommy Banks approach by cooking it on a very low heat in olive oil on the hob for a few hours.</p><p>The latter didn't work at all. Even on the lowest setting on the smallest gas ring, the oil cooked too vigorously. I ended up with a weird halfway house of boiling olive oil then turning the heat off, back and forth for about 2 hours before I abandoned it. I think I should have removed the beetroot from the oil at that point but I let it cool down first.</p><p>The second worked really well! I couldn't justify having the oven on for a couple of hours for just beetroot, so I also baked a gluten free lime yogurt cake for my Very Excellent Mate SJ, then one of my favourite easy meals, confit tandoori chickpeas from <a href="https://amp.theguardian.com/food/2020/jul/11/yotam-ottolenghi-chickpea-recipes-confit-tandoori-polenta-chips-parmesan-braise?utm_term=Autofeed&CMP=twt_gu&utm_medium=&utm_source=Twitter&__twitter_impression=true" target="_blank">Ottolenghi</a>. </p><p>To serve it, I meant to have nice seeded flatbreads with Abergavenny goats cheese and walnuts. As it turned out, the shop didn't have any flatbreads and the walnuts in the cupboard were stale, so we went with just the beetroot and cheese.</p><p>The attempted confit beetroot was a bit oily, but other than that they all tasted pretty much the same. Remarkable sweet, a smooth texture and yes, a little bit like Clean Dirt but only a tiny bit, and it complemented the cheese. I think the walnuts - or a bitter leaf like radicchio - might have improved it by cutting through the sweetness but it was still more of a success than I'd anticipated. </p><p>Mark's verdict was Absolutely Delicious. Mine was Not Bad, Actually.</p><p>I don't think I'll be rushing to buy great bunches of the stuff, but as an occasional thing, slow roased beetroot is a nice surprise. 5 months from garden to plate, but I don't garden hoping for fast food.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1HPyV0GrWWh11limD97AWJv1v5S2cTAGTmWe_CdgDx0UELMU91n1pq2jtY7q5YRqeuYR4DFx1nWmxpA6FQsqNUkUPNv8rZtD4YY8zwI8NQO02C6-qPneliLDoLYGOJQ9hzNPsadeWBTyoy-bAc59qgIAcX_c2rr8WxfNp83t6E-myxAKNRXfuGYWSqB9X/s4032/IMG_3185.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Whigte plate with slices of confitn and roasted beetroot and soft goats cheese" border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1HPyV0GrWWh11limD97AWJv1v5S2cTAGTmWe_CdgDx0UELMU91n1pq2jtY7q5YRqeuYR4DFx1nWmxpA6FQsqNUkUPNv8rZtD4YY8zwI8NQO02C6-qPneliLDoLYGOJQ9hzNPsadeWBTyoy-bAc59qgIAcX_c2rr8WxfNp83t6E-myxAKNRXfuGYWSqB9X/w300-h400/IMG_3185.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A small plate for such a long project</td></tr></tbody></table><p>As I have been putting away gardening things for the winter, I see I still have half a packet of crapaudine seeds. I might even plant them next year. </p><p>Maybe.</p><p><br /></p><p>* It was later voted best restaurant in the world, and I believe it. If you should ever stumble across a giant wad of money, I heartily reccomend spending it there, or Roots in York by the same team.</p><p>** Apologies to John and Yoko</p><br />Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-70697389982407570562023-10-09T16:55:00.003+01:002023-10-09T17:35:08.984+01:00Beanz Meanz Happiness<p>One of my very favourite moments in the veg patch is when the borlotti beans are ready to be picked. For weeks I've watched the pods grow and swell, become mottled then a deep satisfying scarlet. They are lovely ornaments dangling down, gently swaying in a breeze. They draw the eye, only to taunt me with Not Yet.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7BKRb-XMFMBVsvpgu4HY4ZR7wbSUxpw48hx7r9j7i0crd6HA-XjpdY2e2eX6WrBOo90f3qt7CsgVOJroVvNLvemhmzl_a8NrGOuYH5XoL8nOiXj66UP6LBoV3m-XtDFLVUVzRPYc8DyPHkaLKC3mZMfYtx6ChKM1qaEAzTCkXIoHiQ2E7BBxq6SEKhlSq/s4032/IMG_3021.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7BKRb-XMFMBVsvpgu4HY4ZR7wbSUxpw48hx7r9j7i0crd6HA-XjpdY2e2eX6WrBOo90f3qt7CsgVOJroVvNLvemhmzl_a8NrGOuYH5XoL8nOiXj66UP6LBoV3m-XtDFLVUVzRPYc8DyPHkaLKC3mZMfYtx6ChKM1qaEAzTCkXIoHiQ2E7BBxq6SEKhlSq/s320/IMG_3021.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not quite ready</td></tr></tbody></table><p>It's when those pods are drying and dull that the fun starts.</p><p>I love the feeling of splitting a leathery pod down its central seam to reveal the cream and purple jewels inside. It's incredibly satisfying. Each bean is a beauty - even the occasional pale green under-ripe ones are pretty. Before long the mound of pods is replaced by a bowl full of plump borlotti beans ready to become that most wonderful of soups - or is that stews? - pasta e fagioli.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFc7xwzb_YeHQ0J30Ggh2dC2Y7kf4M-6_UJPjYFNAAWZwCmFb-CQuu2PcB1vnGAUr4ZxPzoEMIIE9zNj46Jsj-wfiMksq52rz53ShJStNV5Xh6F2k1iv1dBgIcZHdYMLSyqkeClxh7FfigaaUc4zmrHnnb-rUGv_jEznXqBvJo12FIqAUBXTsi6Zd5tJql/s4032/IMG_3144.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFc7xwzb_YeHQ0J30Ggh2dC2Y7kf4M-6_UJPjYFNAAWZwCmFb-CQuu2PcB1vnGAUr4ZxPzoEMIIE9zNj46Jsj-wfiMksq52rz53ShJStNV5Xh6F2k1iv1dBgIcZHdYMLSyqkeClxh7FfigaaUc4zmrHnnb-rUGv_jEznXqBvJo12FIqAUBXTsi6Zd5tJql/s320/IMG_3144.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZQYT3RJzKOUS0OXw7SXNk4b-8ZJMtTjQO8Gx_JH1zrrSSkvDPHDAFgkUajz6aY52YEJthV0O-AD0gcgm_LyHcwsR_NVnnNTCSwVqnDLzIQwCBXBNyqdzI2g4-RxWnLzqLCamSXaVUTeNuQukNSYU5I9ywFcn21W59dgpLZNmJ-eHil3QGIklfRcrx6KzQ/s4032/IMG_3146.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZQYT3RJzKOUS0OXw7SXNk4b-8ZJMtTjQO8Gx_JH1zrrSSkvDPHDAFgkUajz6aY52YEJthV0O-AD0gcgm_LyHcwsR_NVnnNTCSwVqnDLzIQwCBXBNyqdzI2g4-RxWnLzqLCamSXaVUTeNuQukNSYU5I9ywFcn21W59dgpLZNmJ-eHil3QGIklfRcrx6KzQ/s320/IMG_3146.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Pasta e fagioli just means pasta and beans. If you're Dean Martin and come from Naples stock*, it's pronounced Pasta Fazool, which conveniently rhymes with "when the stars make you drool," which is why I sing That's Amore every time I make it.</p><p>There are probably as many different Correct Recipes as their are Italian families, but this is how I make mine, showing off the borlottis at their finest.</p><h4 style="text-align: left;">Pasta e fagioli</h4><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Large bowl of fresh borlotti beans</li><li>3 medium onions</li><li>2 large carrots</li><li>1 small head of celery</li><li>bay leaves</li><li>stalk of rosemary</li><li>sprig of thyme</li><li>stalks of parsley tied together</li><li>2tbs olive oil</li><li>2 tins of tomatoes</li><li>salt</li><li>pepper</li><li>lemon juice</li></ul><div>then, later, </div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>macaroni</li><li>water</li></ul></div><p></p><p>First, cook the borlotti beans until tender:</p><p>In a good sized pot, tip in the beans and cover with plenty of water. Cut in half one each of the onions and carrots and add them and 4 stalks of celery (including leaves if present) to the pot along with the bay leaves, rosemary and thyme. To make life easier for yourself later, tie the parsley stalks together so you can fish them out easily at the end.</p><p>Bring to the boil and skim off any froth, then simmer until the beans are completely tender. This is generally about an hour - do keep checking the beans aren't boiling dry as the liquid will make our soup stock.</p><p>Leave to cool, then remove and discard the vegetables and herbs. They have both infused our beans and flavoured the stock, and have little goodness remaining.</p><p>Chop up the remaining onions, carrots and celery and fry gently in the olive oil until tender. Add the tinned tomatoes and cook until they've broken down a little.</p><p>Depending on which pot is the biggest, either add the beans to the vegetables or the vegetables to the beans and stock. Bring to a boil and season <i>generously</i> with salt and pepper, plus a healthy slosh of lemon juice to brighten the flavours.</p><p>At this point, I usually let it all cool and portion it into tupperware or ziplock bags, labelled E Fagioli because they haven't got the pasta in yet. The pasta tends to keep absorbing water and becomes unpleasantly over-floppy if it's kept for several days, in my experience, so is best added when you're going to eat it. I pop the various containers of soup in the fridge and freezer - they defrost just fine, and we have a very quick dinner whenever we need it.</p><h4 style="text-align: left;">The Pasta bit:</h4><p>Put as much of the soup in a saucepan as you need for the number of people you are serving. I find a big heaped ladle per person is about right, maybe one and an half if you're <strike>greedy</strike> me. Add a small handful of dried macaroni per person and some cold water - probably 125ml per portion. Bring the soup to the boil and simmer for around 8 minutes. Top with some grated parmesan or pecorino if you like.</p><p>The borlotti beans really are next level delicious. They elevate this from a basic vegetable soup to something rich and nourishing and ridiculously moreish. I highly recomend growing them, they are an absolute doddle.</p><p>Buon appetito!</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq1xiGvTTRx5wM9W6nov5pWt4Nvup0OHUdgXN5BC7EH16LD8xxlqN-HYMKzyvTn2savLvTZw-PublVi7ID5xUnf0Q0hn1rm2oDfkVEspeNlXK4r_4iZGsKRL_SlLKgSIQovtSv280inWJzYut_k67Zi6NT_Rj-8VXtsQ-hudZdC3G9Q2cf8d95ORjRSKvQ/s3840/6FB5B261-5BAE-4A91-A47A-006BFA7BBF38.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3840" data-original-width="2160" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq1xiGvTTRx5wM9W6nov5pWt4Nvup0OHUdgXN5BC7EH16LD8xxlqN-HYMKzyvTn2savLvTZw-PublVi7ID5xUnf0Q0hn1rm2oDfkVEspeNlXK4r_4iZGsKRL_SlLKgSIQovtSv280inWJzYut_k67Zi6NT_Rj-8VXtsQ-hudZdC3G9Q2cf8d95ORjRSKvQ/s320/6FB5B261-5BAE-4A91-A47A-006BFA7BBF38.jpeg" width="180" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><br /></p><p>*yes, a terrible soup pun. I'm not proud.</p>Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-60058232234377148172022-11-07T11:09:00.000+00:002022-11-07T11:09:36.871+00:00Water works<p> I love to grow veg in the poly tunnel and I love my garden but one part I really don't like is watering things. I forget, or my knees hurt, or I get distracted. I am terrible at remembering to do it consistently and unfortunately <i>consistency</i> is the key to successful veg growing.</p><p>Watching a section on Gardener's World about an allotment for a guy who is frequently away for periods during the growing season, I was interested in his 'self-watering' planters, or Wicking Pots. This is a system involving a reservoir of water, a wick to draw the water up, and the pot itself. There are absolutely heaps of items you can buy from the basic to the very high tech, but the principle is largely the same.</p><p>Our garden tends to the 'allotment chic' aesthetic rather than gadgetry. It felt much more fun to work out how to make them myself than to buy a system so I headed to Google to look at ways of making some wicking pots myself. </p><h3 style="text-align: left;">THE TRIAL</h3><p>On the advice of some very helpful YouTube channels, we bought generic builders buckets from Wickes for a quid a go. These would be our resevoirs.</p><p></p>Reusing large plastic pots from shrubs we'd bought in the past would be fine for my cucumber and tomato plants. To hold up the pots I put upturned ice cream tubs in the buckets. This holds the pot proud of the bucket, creating more space for the reservoir. I cut openings in the sides to let the water in, and in the top to allow air to escape as I pour water in.<p></p><p>As for wicks, I took the worst of our old tea towels and a sweatshirt B has outgrown. I cut them into strips and pushed the ends through the holes in the base of each pot, long enough to dangle over the ice cream tub to the bottom of the bucket. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ8QhIY2Oak2-LLvxcOGCv9Mneksz4eLklrPDihgwC2Rxf4eTWm91G_zrJEt8tlreNck6-KH1jpmO9tn4GKtmd43bKApoG_D2tctx3juE6eGcFUrc5d4rAaIl2RTcyNAsO0e051lXYzPDD952V4Z29lpiAieCyg4V_jzJI4yX6FbydEne7XGPw6wImdw/s4032/C56A7ED2-9036-4809-ACC3-EA4B4C8B8DA4_1_201_a.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Black builders buckets with upturned ice cream tubs inside" border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ8QhIY2Oak2-LLvxcOGCv9Mneksz4eLklrPDihgwC2Rxf4eTWm91G_zrJEt8tlreNck6-KH1jpmO9tn4GKtmd43bKApoG_D2tctx3juE6eGcFUrc5d4rAaIl2RTcyNAsO0e051lXYzPDD952V4Z29lpiAieCyg4V_jzJI4yX6FbydEne7XGPw6wImdw/w240-h320/C56A7ED2-9036-4809-ACC3-EA4B4C8B8DA4_1_201_a.heic" title="Buckets and ice cream tubs" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p>There are loads of different ways to lay out the wicking systems. I made three different ones so I can monitor the results and see which (if any!) is effective.</p><p>1) Four thick twisted sections of sweatshirt fabric running all the way up the sides of the pot and held in place by clothes pegs, with a piece of fabric across the bottom of the pot to stop any soil falling into the reservoir. </p><p>2) Several short wicks leading to a thick layer of fabric in the base of the pot to water it from below only.</p><p>3) Loads of short croquet-hoop style wicks made from tea towels, both ends trailing to the resevoir and fiilling every one of the holes in the pot - a little but everywhere approach</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8M43iDNv3Mo_3v8NPD40Lv_iHoyTa_lJ9wM96Rr1Wqh2d9m7v99gC64zZVZzwUBblZQO6JK9NZaCKvWKaKh--de8VLXe09s1trz5J8fGxIRlJ0dZ-DOq4QqsF9LtnJ_ILWio1dqJjU8kzRUBFFH6zOmrfVtyk61h_6urXzs2zZthA_AO4tGkP-wBKww/s4032/A57F611C-6369-445B-8F98-8412B51A6431.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8M43iDNv3Mo_3v8NPD40Lv_iHoyTa_lJ9wM96Rr1Wqh2d9m7v99gC64zZVZzwUBblZQO6JK9NZaCKvWKaKh--de8VLXe09s1trz5J8fGxIRlJ0dZ-DOq4QqsF9LtnJ_ILWio1dqJjU8kzRUBFFH6zOmrfVtyk61h_6urXzs2zZthA_AO4tGkP-wBKww/s320/A57F611C-6369-445B-8F98-8412B51A6431.heic" width="240" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbkx19OHrdUQlN6F3cz65yV6nhFzSGh2FMRzXKl1i7qiVSROdldFQE7v_paWy_msjsUERmt9WmAbRA4UINgSOc9F49EMwByqBxnm8d0cZiPPT98oy23tRVi_OTp25738FKR6ipiBnegU0Q0fF4RCM3Avuv8gfOjVmhzPvfaplNAQGy7mS-b98KQc4-kQ/s4032/605C1BC8-6AF4-4AB8-ACFB-5CFD6805F5CA.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbkx19OHrdUQlN6F3cz65yV6nhFzSGh2FMRzXKl1i7qiVSROdldFQE7v_paWy_msjsUERmt9WmAbRA4UINgSOc9F49EMwByqBxnm8d0cZiPPT98oy23tRVi_OTp25738FKR6ipiBnegU0Q0fF4RCM3Avuv8gfOjVmhzPvfaplNAQGy7mS-b98KQc4-kQ/s320/605C1BC8-6AF4-4AB8-ACFB-5CFD6805F5CA.heic" width="240" /></a></div><br /><br /><p>You can see approaches 1 and 3 - I forgot to photograph the base layer type.</p><p>Next job was to fill the pots with peat free compost and plant the tomato and cucumber seedlings. I put in a cane to tie them to as they grew. The pot then went into the bucket - making sure the fabric wicks were hanging down to touch the bottom of the bucket - to sit securely on top of the ice cream tubs. Mark carried them into the poly tunnel for me and I filled the resevoirs from the water butt.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoFwpt4IwWg3ndKC-JdQyIyDybZWah8t-uqJsEymyPLnDz_jqGTZwqVDHfj3FTUUmVgwRhZ3NHjPi2gW7ydZdPWKJSlmytg0yD6LFwb1HNusqhmwl_VCASdPzt2n64c5YKM0_uVPpvFEGeAUMOtff2CkTptnMYJbDouC3s-yYunZAuaINVPYxa5gNpHw/s4032/CEF68314-1426-423B-B7FC-D0B0B132E34E.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoFwpt4IwWg3ndKC-JdQyIyDybZWah8t-uqJsEymyPLnDz_jqGTZwqVDHfj3FTUUmVgwRhZ3NHjPi2gW7ydZdPWKJSlmytg0yD6LFwb1HNusqhmwl_VCASdPzt2n64c5YKM0_uVPpvFEGeAUMOtff2CkTptnMYJbDouC3s-yYunZAuaINVPYxa5gNpHw/s320/CEF68314-1426-423B-B7FC-D0B0B132E34E.heic" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>I found the top of the soil felt slightly damp for about 4 days - 5 if it was cooler out. This was great for my erratic watering; even more so later in the summer, when I once again tore the meniscus in my right knee and mobility became a bigger issue for me. It was also great because our 8 days in Portugal meant my Very Excellent Mate Penny only had to pop over twice to water them.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ZOtrfGynqUqPYKi-MUqNUM4TWhTlFEusdHw4hu7Uw9ToML9Q0oXHgJyKHXfDPImSmxDyp33mbQ4v5GZ77K34kHxEIRspf3VsWoqIDGltJ9n6uI6nbwj4ZwOycEVmTtfoM4fCLRzNBMbOBpq6-bLngqzOLuxr9QIK4hVlihwi019vkfvD_KCGn2uo1w/s4032/0C4D5BD0-DD1D-4D79-86CD-785E752A7E24.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ZOtrfGynqUqPYKi-MUqNUM4TWhTlFEusdHw4hu7Uw9ToML9Q0oXHgJyKHXfDPImSmxDyp33mbQ4v5GZ77K34kHxEIRspf3VsWoqIDGltJ9n6uI6nbwj4ZwOycEVmTtfoM4fCLRzNBMbOBpq6-bLngqzOLuxr9QIK4hVlihwi019vkfvD_KCGn2uo1w/s320/0C4D5BD0-DD1D-4D79-86CD-785E752A7E24.heic" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The gorgeousness of Portugal</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipboSX6CLaJn_SZjyv2NBtpqfvJuzLif1enSfsY--rayjJ0NjIpcxqKj8IqliABnxfUzaNfHgX9F4Q9JsMdabgLQExFcGUltty97W_zwEND-I9tYWLJoeMmySqnSTN1hW8I90yWRb-Jz1WjXxXaTHuraL52isJfUPQm0Ew6fBN-snRYULezttJ2ZQTZg/s1063/E0E3A928-365C-4D47-9C30-AE21540A6A2D.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1008" data-original-width="1063" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipboSX6CLaJn_SZjyv2NBtpqfvJuzLif1enSfsY--rayjJ0NjIpcxqKj8IqliABnxfUzaNfHgX9F4Q9JsMdabgLQExFcGUltty97W_zwEND-I9tYWLJoeMmySqnSTN1hW8I90yWRb-Jz1WjXxXaTHuraL52isJfUPQm0Ew6fBN-snRYULezttJ2ZQTZg/s320/E0E3A928-365C-4D47-9C30-AE21540A6A2D.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Truly fantastic holiday- and yes, you can read in a pool</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><h3 style="text-align: left;">RESULTS</h3><h4 style="text-align: left;"><br />Good things - </h4><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>stayed moist</li><li>needed little attention</li><li>plants survived heat waves and absences</li></ul><h4 style="text-align: left;">Bad things - </h4><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>the insects! something clearly lay its eggs in the stagnant water at the bottom of the resevoirs</li><li>the smell when watering - disturbing the stagnant bit not only led to a swarm of flies but also a horrible stink</li><li>instability - the pots listed somewhat over the course of the summer so the plants grew at some inconvenient angles. I could pop a bit of stone or brick to wedge them upright in future</li></ul><h4 style="text-align: left;">Learning points - </h4></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>FEED THE PLANTS. I always used growbags with added fertiliser incorporated so it didn't occur to me I needed to regularly feed the plants. What can I say, I'm a twit.</li><li>put less water in the resevoir each time unless I was going away. By leaving so much standing water in the reservoir (because I thought the plants would be more thirsty than they were at the start) I ended up with the bugs/pong situation</li><li>wedge them in place so they don't tip to the side</li></ul><div>I will definitely do it again. There was no observable difference in the growth of the plants or the effectiveness of the wicking systems whether tea towel, sweatshirt, long wicks, short wicks and croquet hoops, so that makes things easy. The wicks aren't reusable as the cotton is pretty disgusting after one season, but we always have some old rags, t-shirts or cloths around.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>For a number of reasons we didn't have a successful tomato crop - the scary 40 degree temperatures stressed everything, the plants fruited late and didn't have time to ripen, and yes, for those on the back, I totally failed to regularly feed the poor things.</div><div><br /></div><div>On the positive side, lots of green tomatoes means lots of green tomato chutney.</div><div><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;">Green Tomato Chutney</h3><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>500g unripe tomatoes</li><li>500g onions</li><li>250g sultanas (or 125g plus 125g diced Bramley</li><li>200g brown sugar</li><li>1.5tsp salt</li><li>1tsp cayenne pepper</li><li>1tsp crushed cardamom seeds</li><li>1tsp mustard seeds</li><li>500ml vinegar - whatever type you have</li></ul><div>Chop the tomatoes and onions, chuck everything into a pot and simmer uncovered for 45-75 minutes, depending how finely you diced things. When it's nice and reduced, put the hot churney into sterilised jars.</div></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh7OGr7s4-OZTbULm2dA5XUom4UUX9snVB1ItAOMjuTSk05T3yQd_yVccCiWs2__pCIjOyuNGOWerbydlInYjeNXJUhSvij5LnWM6JJY_rhEpPEFAjQ2Mux7GRq8mZGDObqxE2JAWyMjwROPxq6m3ZKe1rae3gjt2ymgqeV2zZax4o7Lo2jx5rH3wx8w/s4032/DE097E49-D425-4106-9947-09E2A2FC3139.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh7OGr7s4-OZTbULm2dA5XUom4UUX9snVB1ItAOMjuTSk05T3yQd_yVccCiWs2__pCIjOyuNGOWerbydlInYjeNXJUhSvij5LnWM6JJY_rhEpPEFAjQ2Mux7GRq8mZGDObqxE2JAWyMjwROPxq6m3ZKe1rae3gjt2ymgqeV2zZax4o7Lo2jx5rH3wx8w/s320/DE097E49-D425-4106-9947-09E2A2FC3139.heic" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ta-Da!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><p></p>Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-89789547545125387402022-04-22T12:17:00.000+01:002022-04-22T12:17:45.580+01:00Getting my head straight, getting my home straight<p>As anyone who has ever been to our house will no doubt be aware*, I hate housework.</p><p>Not just dislike, actively loathe. </p><p>I'm frequently happy as a clam cooking, baking, preserving, sowing, potting on, pruning... I even quite like pegging the washing out. Repairing a tear or sewing a button on is pretty satisfying too. But tidying and cleaning? I'd rather have dentistry.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtpRWhy7iOVuxvKO-K9_oUR6M2p7c0yKHVLfgRbOs5wuJ4buUEh00UYUnfslAXhsRuw40X8Nc9gqzb-XdzxmYUjLyO2ux_FJsHEFRep-w_IYF3H2-mveBcDiKUp5doGT2GFBc14eU3iL7FnZPaHzoSVgNrhzlaPQGL7NrjOrk977T7nl4XwrQy6cAlqQ/s4032/1372AAE1-422F-40E6-AD22-8EAB5894C9F3_1_201_a.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtpRWhy7iOVuxvKO-K9_oUR6M2p7c0yKHVLfgRbOs5wuJ4buUEh00UYUnfslAXhsRuw40X8Nc9gqzb-XdzxmYUjLyO2ux_FJsHEFRep-w_IYF3H2-mveBcDiKUp5doGT2GFBc14eU3iL7FnZPaHzoSVgNrhzlaPQGL7NrjOrk977T7nl4XwrQy6cAlqQ/s320/1372AAE1-422F-40E6-AD22-8EAB5894C9F3_1_201_a.heic" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even Gonzo's complaining about the mess</td></tr></tbody></table><p>A more recent impediment has been the short period of activity I can manage before I 'run out of knees'. If I've only got a good active 45 minutes I'll be damned if I'll spend it cleaning the kitchen when I could be in the garden or making a curry. </p><p>With Mark working full time, the lads with their stuff and B at school, this leads to the place becoming a bit of a tip. I'm the one with the time to tackle it and I don't or won't or can't. It becomes a vicious circle - the worse it gets, the more is required to put it right, and the more anxious and stressed about tackling it I get, so I put it off.</p><p>I was lying in bed this morning doing my physio exercises and feeling very fed up with the state of the bedroom and bathroom, hacked off with my pain levels and pretty pissed off with my lack of motivation. </p><p>The bathroom didn't just need a quick clean, it needs the steam mop on the tiles and grouting. The bedroom won't just improve with a quick tidy up, I need to sort out the massive stacks of clutter on every horizonal surface (except the bed - that just had the cat and me). After I washed the sheer curtains last summer I broke the wire and never rehung them, so that needs doing too. And the windows need a clean.</p><p>My instinct with each of these was to tell myself it's all awful, I'm a horrible lazy slob and to walk away and close the door on it all until one day I can't stand it anymore and <strike>burn it down</strike> actually get stuck into cleaning.</p><p>Then I stopped myself. I've done enough CBT to not get into this sort of unhelpful churning, for god's sake, so why wasn't I using it?</p><p>As Voltaire tells us, 'best' is the enemy of 'good'. I am a very thorough person by nature, but that's a stumbling block here. OK, I can't spend two hours with the steam cleaner on all the tiling. What if I didn't tackle the tiles and the grouting, but did clean the sink, toilet, mirror and shower screen and stopped? No, I wouldn't have a glistening lovely bathroom, but I would have one much nicer than now.</p><p>A good 80% of the clutter in the bedroom is books I can't currently put away. If I'm not up to (yet another) big book cull, what could I improve in 5 minutes? Simply putting the travelling bag away, removing clothes from the chaise longue, making the bed, collecting the laundry into one place made the room less of a disgrace. </p><p>I had internalised that if I wasn't doing cleaning 'properly', it wasn't worth doing. That's nonsense. It's not a binary of acceptable and unacceptable. There's a sliding scale from Show Home to Shit Tip and a nudge in the right direction is a good thing.</p><p>It's simple, it's obvious but I couldn't see it. I don't have to do everything thoroughly or not at all. Similarly, I don't have to commit to 'little and often' as a permanent approach. I've been an All Or Nothing person my whole life, it's not likely to change now. But I can just decide "I would feel better if I spent 5 minutes on that job" and do it, without pressuring myself to do the next bit and the next. And without walking away from it all because it's too much.</p><p>One day there might be a utopia in which I can make my friends' dinners and they do my cleaning - or I work out how to monetise my disparate skills and earn enough to employ a cleaner. But until then, doing a bit when I can is better than my current approach. </p><p>I generally write things down here when I think I'll need to come back to them. (This is usually recipe or garden related!) I know my housekeeping debacles are a recurring theme, so I'm going to need reminding of all this. Type it out, find the right words, rewrite a bit until I make sense to myself and POW the muddle of emotions and anxieties in my head becomes something I have Thought Through (another favourite thing of mine) and no longer has to power to stress me.</p><p>Words make things so much better.</p><p>*I once had a friend who used to come around frequently tell me "If my house was like this I would never invite anyone over." She did have a cleaner 3 times a week though. </p>Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-45269835180925050432021-07-02T14:36:00.001+01:002021-07-02T14:36:29.050+01:00oh, CanadaYesterday was Canada Day. For me it's a chance to mess about making food from my childhood and think about all friends who would share that food with me over those years - a very personal reason to celebrate. Normally in Canada it's a celebration of nationhood, of who we are and where we came from. Flags, songs, fireworks. Not this year.<div><br /></div><div>The horrifying revelations about the Indigenous Residential Schools and the number of bodies buried there, nameless and abandoned, has shaken Canada's vision of itself as The Nice Place. We need to look clear-eyed at the atrocities of our past, acknowledge our complicity in a society that not just allowed but <i>encouraged</i> this to take place, and to mourn with those who lost their families and their culture. So this year, Canada Day is a muted occasion tainted by the shame of what the state did to vulnerable and disempowered people it should have been protecting and nurturing.</div><div><br /></div><div>Reading the news, I wondered whether it would be more respectful to call off having our neighbours over as planned. I decided to go ahead, partly because it would let down to very special little boys, and partly because my cancelling my one day of being Canadian for the year doesn't do anything to support the First Nations. A hair shirt gesture by me helps no one.</div><div><br /></div><div>So we went ahead.</div><div><br /></div><div>Seeing as the handful of people who read this blog all know me anyway, you will not be surprised to learn I went a bit overboard. What started with a plan to bake <a href="https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/canadian-butter-tarts" target="_blank">butter tarts</a> turned into a 5 hour session in the kitchen, including some rather mixed successes in cheese-making.</div><div><br /></div><div>The crux of the thing was how to try recreate poutine in the UK, and make it suitable for vegetarians. Poutine is chips and fresh cheese curds liberally doused in (usually chicken) gravy. It turns out the UK doesn't generally have cheese curds and my usual onion gravy isn't the right kind of gravy. Clearly experimentation was needed.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the end I pretty much cracked it.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><u>Vegetarian gravy:</u></b></div><div><br /></div><div>1 onion, diced</div><div>1 handful dried porcini mushrooms</div><div>40g butter</div><div>handful of plain flour</div><div>500ml double strength vegetable stock</div><div>20ml soy sauce </div><div><br /></div><div>Cook the onion on a low heat in the butter, stirring occasionally until it starts to caramelise - probably around 20-30 minutes. Meanwhile, pour 500ml boiling water on the dried mushrooms and leave to steep. </div><div><br /></div><div>When the onions start to colour, add the flour and stir, making a roux. Once the roux has cooked off and is starting to stick, gradually add the vegetable stock (I use those Knorr stock pot things, but whatever you prefer) and whisk it smooth each time. Tip in the mushroom stock, rehydrated mushrooms and soy sauce. Leave to simmer for 10 minutes or just before it's needed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Pass the gravy through a sieve; it should be smooth and glossy and a good pouring consistency. Add a dash of hot water if needed. Pour generously over your chips and cheese curds.</div><div><br /></div><div>The creation of real, squeaky curds for the poutine is something I still have to master, but the compromise of my (initially futile) cheese making still tasted great with chips and gravy.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><u>Cheese Curds:</u></b></div><div><br /></div><div>1 litre of full fat milk</div><div>one entirely pointless phial of vegetarian rennet</div><div>generous slosh of lemon juice</div><div>slightly too much salt.</div><div><br /></div><div>Following the instructions that came with my mother-in-law Marion's cheese making kit, I heated the milk to 28 degrees and added drops of the rennet diluted in a bit of water. I left it for the maximum suggested time of 60 minutes, and came back to a pan of warm milk. In fairness, the rennet instructions did say to store it in a cool place and it's been in my (very warm) kitchen or Marion's (very warm) conservatory for 6 months, because the instructions about keeping it cool were <i>inside</i> the kit. </div><div><br /></div><div>On the assumption that if it works for paneer, it can work for this, I warmed the milk slightly once again and added lemon juice. The milk curdled satisfactorily, so I put cheescloth in a collander and drained the whey off. (I actully used some of it for the vegetable stock in the gravy)</div><div><br /></div><div>Mixing the drained curds with some salt, I put them in a container in the fridge until needed. </div><div><br /></div><div>Other foods I associate with Canada are Grandma Curl's potato salad, chicken wings (our family had weekly trips to Mellows in Main West, Hamilton for wings night) Nanaimo bars and really good grilled cheese sandwiches. Obviously there's Kraft Dinner too, but since they removed all of the dangerous and probably toxic additives it's no fun anymore.</div><div><br /></div><div>Pearl Curry, grandmother to our childhood best friends Darrin and Kirsten, made the best potato salad in all the world. As her grandchildren struggled over Grandma Curry and her first name, she was Grandma Curl to everyone. </div><div><br /></div><div><b><u>Grandma Curl's Potato Salad:</u></b></div><div><br /></div><div>Cold cooked potatoes cut into dice (I like Charlottes)</div><div>1-2 hard boiled eggs</div><div>1 green pepper</div><div>1 onion or several spring onions</div><div>Hellman's mayonnaise (Grandma Curl was very insistent on this)</div><div><br /></div><div>Chop up the hard boiled eggs, onion and green papper as finely as you can - not much bigger that breadcrumbs. I slice finely then go to town with a mezza luna until they are chopped into tiny pieces. Combine the spuds, egg, pepper and onion to a large bowl, mixing gently. Add mayonnaise a dollop at a time, as you don't need as much as you might think. Taste and adjust seasoning to taste. To go the full Pearl aesthetic you can top it with a generous sprinkling of paprika.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><u>Proper Grilled Cheese Sandwiches:</u></b></div><div><br /></div><div>Butter</div><div>White bread</div><div>Grated extra strong (Canadian) cheddar</div><div>Grated Mozzarella</div><div><br /></div><div>Mix the cheeses together. Thickly butter the slices of bread. Put it <b>butter side down</b> in a frying pan, griddle or panini press. Top with plenty of grated cheese (cheddar for flavour, mozzarella for texture) and the second slice of bread, <b>butter side up</b>. Press down with a fish slice, and when nicer crisp and browned, turn over carefully and repeat.</div><div><br /></div><div>Make more than you think you'll need because they do get eaten quickly.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIms-QvZeLymMmnP801WQ5efoVZNcpEZlh1zKxexoXr9MuC5V2FT6i8sUbfosZ34XaIzt0c-qDndDWqmCzs7otamdxmKgic5Ak8oAffWzStAZQla219a1onLOmERJAP8nMgV70eGHjVd86/s851/2C772AF3-96EB-4108-86C5-7E668156078C.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="851" data-original-width="723" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIms-QvZeLymMmnP801WQ5efoVZNcpEZlh1zKxexoXr9MuC5V2FT6i8sUbfosZ34XaIzt0c-qDndDWqmCzs7otamdxmKgic5Ak8oAffWzStAZQla219a1onLOmERJAP8nMgV70eGHjVd86/s320/2C772AF3-96EB-4108-86C5-7E668156078C.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf0TwoDdBLzhiv7b27zskra7w0KPFf5vFy5MQ2s6rJAguI5om6uzi_RUze1Z3cmqApsIzUUlOWMdFfUWVFJenGblV3O-1B5T2uDW20vXDmgfGt9bu1sKHQi0b7cWwZ19akieuD9ZmOiQex/s765/E33F9CFB-D281-4E7C-82D8-FC30E08A8471.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="765" data-original-width="699" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf0TwoDdBLzhiv7b27zskra7w0KPFf5vFy5MQ2s6rJAguI5om6uzi_RUze1Z3cmqApsIzUUlOWMdFfUWVFJenGblV3O-1B5T2uDW20vXDmgfGt9bu1sKHQi0b7cWwZ19akieuD9ZmOiQex/s320/E33F9CFB-D281-4E7C-82D8-FC30E08A8471.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It was a laid back affair. Not really a party, just a get together between neighbours. The girls played games with our 5 year old neighbour and Luke kept soon-to-be-3 neighbour entertained for ages with the help of a stick, a leaf and the pond. We chatted, swapped tales and generally had a lovely relaxed evening.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was wonderful to share the food of my childhood home with the ace people in my life now - I think North Leeds is ripe for converting to the joys of a butter tart and a bowl of poutine.</div>Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-83156273541769233612021-07-02T14:35:00.001+01:002021-07-02T14:59:58.422+01:00June's Three Letter Acronyms: HRT and RHS<p> </p><p>What a lazy thing I've been for 6 months! Not a word written, and my principle activity has been binge-reading for days on end. No wonder I'm fatter and more unfit than ever. The inactivity and inertia of 16 months of isolation has led to me being heavier than ever and I'm a bit ashamed to let people see me. I was feeling pretty low about it. With that and my stomach hernia tearing ever wider, I feel something of a lopsided freak. </p><p>In addition, my moods have been getting worse and worse. I've alway been on the <strike>ranting</strike> <i>feisty</i> side. However, over the last five years I've been <b>FURIOUS</b>. Not a bit irritable, not grumpy, actually incandescent with rage most of the time and struggling to suppress it. My poor family are very hard done by. It can't be helping my blood pressure</p><p>Added to that has been increased joint pain, erratic sleeping, hot flushes, and for the first time in my life, poor memory. I always had an excellent memory. Now I feel disorganised and stupid; I can't remember names and frequently drop a word from my brain for a while. I was worried this is how dementia starts, to be honest.</p><p>However, Davina McColl's excellent programme about menopause gave me the prod I needed. I emailed my GP (phone calls and appointments are near impossible) and aftert a telephone consult 4 weeks later, find myself the owner of the coolest stickers known to women - the HRT patch stuck to my butt cheek.</p><p>I'm only at the start of my HRT experience, but so far it's bloody fantastic. Reduced flushes, but still there sometimes, slightly reduced joint pain but mostly NO RAGE.* It's <b>brilliant</b>! I feel optimistic. I can have fun. I can have sex, too, which perimenopausal me was struggling with somewhat. It's a clear broad square of cellotape that is making my life so very much better. I give thanks to the Goddess of HRT, whoever she is, and encourage all my perimenopausal-suffering sisters to request it. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkWw9vEgbHKY1_9e9tsgRTp3AOS6NNxYoQOZYr7ywE2OopvrfR8JJ-xiMnXlwXo0EMl05bZEgD89nEfGNqmKX1GZ41PUqldGaC1L216cPp75jthDxTYYLWs5LrnbvHx_3RYqvxo3K7_RKF/s2048/27301AC9-C75E-4CE0-96CA-9E327E0893D2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkWw9vEgbHKY1_9e9tsgRTp3AOS6NNxYoQOZYr7ywE2OopvrfR8JJ-xiMnXlwXo0EMl05bZEgD89nEfGNqmKX1GZ41PUqldGaC1L216cPp75jthDxTYYLWs5LrnbvHx_3RYqvxo3K7_RKF/w192-h256/27301AC9-C75E-4CE0-96CA-9E327E0893D2.jpeg" width="192" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Side effects so far are a tendency to get even pinker in the sunshine, a burst of swearing when I realise I've forgotten to swap patches and having to use baby oil for the first time in decades. (It cleans the sticky residue off your skin). It should even regulate my periods; a blessing when my cycle ranges from 16 days to 147 days!</p><p>In celebration of this new optimistic me, Mark and I went to a visit at the new RHS Bridgewater garden in Salford. We'd seen the first of four episodes of the BBC documentary of its contruction and thought it looked great. The main attraction for us was - inevitably - the chance to see such a massive kitchen garden. I may be a grempty spoaces adual convert to growing flowers but my true love is growing food.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0twVH_SYwqLDubj2cgQ8t39hfntKZ1UpQ3aCetoCggL_lED9lxJDorQTZuZ0pfu1oKc4B5V8bypGB3BYcnwsgh7t8Y6XvrveMuw-Qd8qFv9KaT0B52QaUu-34Zf1bp79_-3q01kvLynm-/s2048/EEF2E12E-F53A-4CF1-A8A7-9AA14A23AC9E.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0twVH_SYwqLDubj2cgQ8t39hfntKZ1UpQ3aCetoCggL_lED9lxJDorQTZuZ0pfu1oKc4B5V8bypGB3BYcnwsgh7t8Y6XvrveMuw-Qd8qFv9KaT0B52QaUu-34Zf1bp79_-3q01kvLynm-/s320/EEF2E12E-F53A-4CF1-A8A7-9AA14A23AC9E.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="text-align: left;">It's important to remember that Bridgewater's a very new garden opening in a difficult time. There are some areas not established enough to look impressive - particularly the Chinese Riverside Garden - and some empty spaces only gradually being planted out. However, you such a young garden it is fantastic! The repeated swathes of salvia and geums, the beautiful structures for climbing plants echoing the Bothey's chimney, the pleached tree courtyards and stunning use of water in both the kitchen garden and paradise garden were delightful. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" left="" style="clear: both;" text-align:="">We weren't the only fans. As well as the human admirers, the gardens were filled wiht bees of all types, butterflies, dragonflies, damsel flies and birds. We were particularly delighted to see a swallow nest full of chicks, and watch the adults swoop in every two minutes with beaks crammed with insects. Give me a puffer jacket and call me Michaela Strachan!</div><p>I was very impressed how natural the new lake looked already, with at least 3 species of dragonfly in residence. Their waterlilies were in bloom weeks before ours, so I was definitely rather envious. Unfitness and knee pain meant we didn't explore the furthest areas of woodland, but this is very much as garden in progress so coming again won't be a hardship.</p><p>One thing I've found at every RHS venue or event I've been to is how absolutely lovely the staff are. Those at Bridgewater are clearly as proud as punch of the new garden, and were happy to chat with the many visitors on all sorts of topics. They really are a credit to the RHS, and I hope the organisation knows it.</p><p>The main prompt for writing a quick post today was my mother in law Marion, who was hoping I'd posted some phtots of Bridgewater for her to admire. In that spirit, here are lots of photos of pretty or inventive things that appealed to me:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6XJutLnRyWKv3Fq1mz8EnTDVqf8F5AtUhJpMEkCvSEbfqu0kDlPMnivu963CsCTK3M27gN0lXC3-44q3krXe-VT1RCg2FcJ_Gr_G6nU4MCJiwWQsNRlC-YQhxJ0KhEatwAWy0lf0ys7X5/s2048/6D122CD7-77E2-4207-8EA7-7D868A047CC8.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1396" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6XJutLnRyWKv3Fq1mz8EnTDVqf8F5AtUhJpMEkCvSEbfqu0kDlPMnivu963CsCTK3M27gN0lXC3-44q3krXe-VT1RCg2FcJ_Gr_G6nU4MCJiwWQsNRlC-YQhxJ0KhEatwAWy0lf0ys7X5/s320/6D122CD7-77E2-4207-8EA7-7D868A047CC8.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4nDqL2rze45wub4yAHtkYjQlC1JkNkgQJFICzZ19XXnurqFscj41w3gb4I2AVYLgicC9IC89ukzffwKcnblIc9v1-TlYXf-j12rQeWO569jIkBeuwLVkuufifvCYCNwKANCPso-jsWZRF/s2048/3DF19859-0A50-4C67-A717-ED78BB353669.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4nDqL2rze45wub4yAHtkYjQlC1JkNkgQJFICzZ19XXnurqFscj41w3gb4I2AVYLgicC9IC89ukzffwKcnblIc9v1-TlYXf-j12rQeWO569jIkBeuwLVkuufifvCYCNwKANCPso-jsWZRF/s320/3DF19859-0A50-4C67-A717-ED78BB353669.jpeg" /></a></div><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBrwnGy3bG-C5B2Lt4KfrtXsU3NnfoFOBtsV1gg1dPLLZu2SitTeBoT42LbTsv8o25clWf5Nb7XRZP7NUWB1dZm0ypw0og8LKKpRV5Q1tWlaynsWC52EVKEhu-gLbo9JfsmAUHQ_adth-I/s2048/07B01F00-2A2F-4AB9-B080-AB474BAE0C9D.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBrwnGy3bG-C5B2Lt4KfrtXsU3NnfoFOBtsV1gg1dPLLZu2SitTeBoT42LbTsv8o25clWf5Nb7XRZP7NUWB1dZm0ypw0og8LKKpRV5Q1tWlaynsWC52EVKEhu-gLbo9JfsmAUHQ_adth-I/s320/07B01F00-2A2F-4AB9-B080-AB474BAE0C9D.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS3lnWIVhlL9oKSFuKvfNXKocnMZtNJKV9nHzU-QAjYOg8AzMHMHu8aRNhzj95tCvQKBRkiBCdckDviFJ2oGSSsuNV06gMUg50iSetbEJtACTSIOD7dJOTxGRnqILY6KpdU6KIeX7zRYi2/s2048/A7AE73DF-BD37-4282-9577-DC8B6D9734AD.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS3lnWIVhlL9oKSFuKvfNXKocnMZtNJKV9nHzU-QAjYOg8AzMHMHu8aRNhzj95tCvQKBRkiBCdckDviFJ2oGSSsuNV06gMUg50iSetbEJtACTSIOD7dJOTxGRnqILY6KpdU6KIeX7zRYi2/s320/A7AE73DF-BD37-4282-9577-DC8B6D9734AD.jpeg" /></a></div><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyqJIUfhvCbrEyOFw7y_pZStvHlp_n7pNgUkqpD8O7RHk0i5mFXzJR37J2vGCsWkVc_CG-fsoiewzshfLXHyPhA6NFD_HDjYBzo7leVkRw_4yYap0R9hCuL6SLi_U-G9vCHrQlldSIp1ML/s2048/B003EEB4-5CB5-4BAD-B47C-73396A82902C.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyqJIUfhvCbrEyOFw7y_pZStvHlp_n7pNgUkqpD8O7RHk0i5mFXzJR37J2vGCsWkVc_CG-fsoiewzshfLXHyPhA6NFD_HDjYBzo7leVkRw_4yYap0R9hCuL6SLi_U-G9vCHrQlldSIp1ML/s320/B003EEB4-5CB5-4BAD-B47C-73396A82902C.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHA6wSS0iDAlsw2yNE6t1_8PvE3iPSQ9OUGFW81FbpkOrB6wyp1Cs8FqQHJPfHYEwH0v507qUgqdpeJ9_NlmFtqdkWz1uzFyeR7TO2le-gTg9f-7D86mth5KiS8NF6jaUUn7eccymHdVkw/s2048/CB1E6F8C-11CA-4195-B4B4-BFC20B1D8B45.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1710" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHA6wSS0iDAlsw2yNE6t1_8PvE3iPSQ9OUGFW81FbpkOrB6wyp1Cs8FqQHJPfHYEwH0v507qUgqdpeJ9_NlmFtqdkWz1uzFyeR7TO2le-gTg9f-7D86mth5KiS8NF6jaUUn7eccymHdVkw/s320/CB1E6F8C-11CA-4195-B4B4-BFC20B1D8B45.jpeg" /></a></div><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYdQwrCSN4V_s9izKCfsVOKRA2DjRBILiQTkSKfG-0whUWPZGKsUErUznk6fYIndGtml5DvRhIOdtvDQCfBe8cmXZTu9UD66AOpEwgwtjJMxxIcwqiH9DWEKtPuR8RVNBWqikDNRhW9E0H/s2048/6DF0BD64-579A-476D-A3A6-3C16549D21DA.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYdQwrCSN4V_s9izKCfsVOKRA2DjRBILiQTkSKfG-0whUWPZGKsUErUznk6fYIndGtml5DvRhIOdtvDQCfBe8cmXZTu9UD66AOpEwgwtjJMxxIcwqiH9DWEKtPuR8RVNBWqikDNRhW9E0H/s320/6DF0BD64-579A-476D-A3A6-3C16549D21DA.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p>*Ok, a bit of rage, but that's because of Johnson and Cummiongs and Hancock and all those weaselly mendacious incompetents, so is to be expected</p>Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-21222130516795740112021-01-08T15:35:00.003+00:002021-01-08T15:35:35.974+00:00To garden is to be an optimist<p></p><br />It's that rare thing - a properly snowy day in England. They are exciting days to be relished, as years can go by without them. The wildlife is making the most of it as well - two healthy young foxes were. doing what can only be described as frolicking in the next garden, and it was all very Christmas card-like. Leaping, pouncing, rolling in the snow, looking absolutely gorgeous. The birds are less keen. The hens are quail are hunkered down under shelter. 23 starlings mobbed the bird feeders, so I suspect I'll need to venture out and top that up shortly.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsoasdszYNi1YFQpKnDxDDL3VNxJ_1sP8UMzJkAHnr-i6p-xGW1_mWulS3rSQcKkgLSWqTtjcMAgJWV23fKRIPMjUyjG4Rjy019obL629WeGg1v9aI1_wcKeQkO8WN3byUawzN8q3PAImd/s2048/2FBD0637-B070-42C7-A094-7438FB4A578A.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Fox in snow" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsoasdszYNi1YFQpKnDxDDL3VNxJ_1sP8UMzJkAHnr-i6p-xGW1_mWulS3rSQcKkgLSWqTtjcMAgJWV23fKRIPMjUyjG4Rjy019obL629WeGg1v9aI1_wcKeQkO8WN3byUawzN8q3PAImd/w240-h320/2FBD0637-B070-42C7-A094-7438FB4A578A.jpeg" title="Terrible photo of a wonderful thing" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I'm warm and snug inside with a stack of seed and plant catalogues and a wish list. It's time to plan this year's vegetable garden. </p><p>We've had a lot of reference books over the years but the one I most turn to is the <a href="https://uk.bookshop.org/books/veg-patch/9780747595342" target="_blank">River Cottage Handbook: Veg Patch by Mark Diacono</a>. It's full of practical advice, suggestions about various varieties, soil conditions, sowing and planting charts and all the usual stuff you'd expect. However, what stands it apart is the section on What To Plant.</p><p>Diacono suggests first making a list of all the veg you <i>like</i>. Don't worry about whether it will grow or not at this stage, you can whittle the list down later. If a vegetable doesn't appear on your list, <i>don't grow it.</i> Sounds obvious but believe me, it isn't. I grew perpetual spinach for several years before accepting that yes, true spinach bolts and runs to seed but who cares? It's far, far nicer to eat than a chard pretending to be spinach. See also beetroot (for my Mum) and radish (for my Dad).</p><p>He also suggests you look at several different reasons to plant something. Is it far better when freshly picked? Asparagus, peas, sweetcorn and sprouts picked minutes ago are all a world away from the supermarket equivalent because the sugars degrade to starch by the hour. Freshly picked tomatoes smell absolutely wonderful. The best strawberries you'll ever taste are picked straight from the plant, still warm from the sun.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaaIWVVIDZLGAtIJDqLSfozJ5StTqbtCPQ2jrb9wLo8EijhGKkiS9tuGff9VZXVxkRkp6zbsefIYz49f4HLdNx-KHjUejKKp0u3QDN6Bwm-3Jn-cnEZ4d29pBXu5HDbWc-KwS0Q62cBBI9/s2048/4DC975C9-21EF-4307-95D5-ED0C5A10D83C.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Large strawberry" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaaIWVVIDZLGAtIJDqLSfozJ5StTqbtCPQ2jrb9wLo8EijhGKkiS9tuGff9VZXVxkRkp6zbsefIYz49f4HLdNx-KHjUejKKp0u3QDN6Bwm-3Jn-cnEZ4d29pBXu5HDbWc-KwS0Q62cBBI9/w240-h320/4DC975C9-21EF-4307-95D5-ED0C5A10D83C.jpeg" title="Just perfection itself" width="240" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Is it expensive to buy but easy to grow? Again, asparagus is the clear example; once the bed is well established it effortlessly produces stalks for years. Herbs grow very well from seed in generous armfuls. The more unusual varieties like Pink Fir Apple spuds are pricey in the shops and a doddle to grow in a sack on the patio. </p><p>The reverse is also important from my point of view - is it cheap to buy and either complicated to grow or needs too much space? Don't bother. (Celery, I'm looking at you.) Greedy things, squashes - the plants grow quickly and well but they take many months and a huge patch of the raised bed to produce something I can pick up for a quid at the supermarket with no loss of flavour. Onions are insanely cheap, whereas shallots are far more expensive to buy and grow beautifully in our climate so I choose them instead.</p><p>NB - this space issue is for those of us with limited raised bed space or a small veg patch. You allotmenteers can fill your boots, you lucky devils.</p><p>How about thinking about food miles - there are loads of commonly imported vegetables that grow perfectly happily in our gardens. Any we grow ourselves is a step to reducing our carbon footprint. With successional planting in troughs I can keep us in mixed salad leaves from late May to September at the very least. </p><p>Is it attractive? Runner beans were initially grown for their flowers, not the pods, and come in many shades from white or yellow through orange to the most vivid red. Globe artichokes are stunning plants with huge silver leaves and giant purple thistle flowers (if you leave some buds to develop.) They are always covered in bees and hoverflies. Jerusalem artichokes are really a strain of sunflowers that grow 3m stalks with bright yellow flowers. Borage is not only great for bees and for producing cucumber flavoured flowers for your Pimms, those flowers are prolific and the most heavenly blue. So if you want to enjoy the look of your veg patch as well as its produce, that's worth thinking of.</p><p>Diacono also strongly recommends growing something you've never tried before. That's brought me a lot of fun over the years from cute but silly cucamelons, tomatillos for Mexican food, my first taste of quince this year and the ridiculous looking kohlrabi, which makes great coleslaw. He also suggests something you think you dislike. I know that sounds contradictory to Grow What You Enjoy, but it's choosing something deliberately to see if your prejudice holds. That's how I learnt that I love sprouts (see Better When Fresh above).</p><p>I would add another consideration - Don't Grow What Is Doomed To Fail. Why do it to yourself? Optimist that I am, I have attempted to grow aubergines on at least 12 occasions. I'm here to tell you that if you live in Yorkshire without a heated greenhouse, my lovely, you are NOT likely to be successful. With red and green peppers you'll get some, with chilli peppers (in a poly tunnel or cold frame) you'll have masses; aubergines? not so much. Ditto rosemary in heavy clay soil, or blueberries planted in lime-rich soil. I also tried chilli peppers from seed unsuccessfully for years until I got a heated propagator. I make that mistake a lot, and it's expensive. Enthusiasm over practicality. I'd save yourself the bother; just look at me as someone who makes mistakes so you don't have to.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKGuOZUC8nL-558GVnP01hctsanbLD1ZIt9TwehVlm0zN9cGbu6cTYONT7UT95IMxrlTY3RsZUkxRb6Y8hPZ52Zr4lEC-zLMX2CcWCMuSZDogqG_vz6sS9keYpz5NtWdGI2-OXU4Mv-ZHZ/s2048/034566FA-E4A1-49E6-A504-6F2857578D55.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Jalapeño peppers in a poly tunnel" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKGuOZUC8nL-558GVnP01hctsanbLD1ZIt9TwehVlm0zN9cGbu6cTYONT7UT95IMxrlTY3RsZUkxRb6Y8hPZ52Zr4lEC-zLMX2CcWCMuSZDogqG_vz6sS9keYpz5NtWdGI2-OXU4Mv-ZHZ/w240-h320/034566FA-E4A1-49E6-A504-6F2857578D55.jpeg" title="I can never have too many chillies" width="240" /></a></div><p>With all that in mind, I'ver gone through and created the list for Veg Patch 2021. I hope by placing my orders on the early side I won't get blindsided like last year when a third of the things I wanted were out of stock as new lockdown gardeners emptied the shelves. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRtVG646JZm7W84KuADlL7oibgBCv0iv54k8Z0rWvCYrEtsZrLXZCjUmREhQTAzemJsAZfqM9ri-gSZZuhFP3hBdbdNc61UYxjFJfQFiyk0PpAwDfRl07TU9gH3t_RnhJrufefJEGuCGwD/s2048/E93163A5-836C-497B-9377-64FF20630B68.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRtVG646JZm7W84KuADlL7oibgBCv0iv54k8Z0rWvCYrEtsZrLXZCjUmREhQTAzemJsAZfqM9ri-gSZZuhFP3hBdbdNc61UYxjFJfQFiyk0PpAwDfRl07TU9gH3t_RnhJrufefJEGuCGwD/s320/E93163A5-836C-497B-9377-64FF20630B68.jpeg" /></a></div><p>This year's wish list include some things I fancy a go at, some things I know we love, some stalwarts we can't do without. I haven’t included shallots, coriander and salad because those are my essentials I won’t forget.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDwHI4S2neMfttpojkVEgGMKfvLxLb5eG_Mc8UZp7_dkvF0J7G9oeaf3SMTFri1PapgA8s4twvFBx-ox1f46B8l_WVvwke-32SCioaVKnd_E-Pxi2DrG1dQY4JWWQew3CYs57HSB61Rexi/s2048/328CB3A6-EC7A-474E-BEF1-D4306293E9F2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDwHI4S2neMfttpojkVEgGMKfvLxLb5eG_Mc8UZp7_dkvF0J7G9oeaf3SMTFri1PapgA8s4twvFBx-ox1f46B8l_WVvwke-32SCioaVKnd_E-Pxi2DrG1dQY4JWWQew3CYs57HSB61Rexi/s320/328CB3A6-EC7A-474E-BEF1-D4306293E9F2.jpeg" /></a></div><p></p><p>Equally important is my No list. That starts with those I often out of habit but don't justify the space: broccoli and cauliflowers, squashes, more than 2 courgette plants. The other group includes those that are great in theory but fail in practice: last year no one harvested the runner beans or peas beyond a handful picked in passing and eaten raw. Not this year, I'll wait until we actually miss them before adding them back in the rotation. (Side eye to Mark, who asked me to plant the runner beans when I don't like them!)</p><p>I also know from experience that some plants are more economical for me to buy as seedlings rather than growning from seed myself. I'm an erratic gardener really, and tend to stop paying attention between the exciting bit (Oooh! a seedling!) and the fun bits (big enough to plant out, then later harvesting). Therefore I tend to have more luck with a sturdy couple of cucumber plants than a packet of 10 seeds. It's not all my fault, the slugs are also a major factor, but it's pretty frustrating so now I acknowledge that and work around it. </p><p>By the way, my all time best Buy It, Don't Sow It is sweetpea seedlings from Sarah Raven. They are EXPENSIVE, there's no way around. However, they are extremely study and prolific plants. I get 2-3 bouquets of sweetpeas for at least 12 weeks straight - more if I were a less erratic waterer. It's an annual gift I give myself and it is stupendous value compared to any cut flowers I might buy. The whole house is filled with the scent, it's divine. My friends and neighbours benefit too. She has many gorgeous collections but my favourite are the <a href="https://www.sarahraven.com/flowers/plants/sweet-pea-seedlings/clouds-of-scent-sweet-pea-mix.htm" target="_blank">very simple ones with few flowerheads that produce the most wonderful scent</a>. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6mNXL0Yl3yRd2srwHlhYFohMannUc_jo4yRLRBXEJO29kAU0qfngBBgusvYZUia3EVucDZHJFGd8yH20U4aBahN6OVguhVJkkrVB8_C_20m7pMTpWd92BNkqAO-RQA3cIEn3Z-KIfrjAe/s2048/865508A3-C2C2-487D-B6DB-276B9A09D798.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Sweet peas on the kitchen counter" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6mNXL0Yl3yRd2srwHlhYFohMannUc_jo4yRLRBXEJO29kAU0qfngBBgusvYZUia3EVucDZHJFGd8yH20U4aBahN6OVguhVJkkrVB8_C_20m7pMTpWd92BNkqAO-RQA3cIEn3Z-KIfrjAe/w320-h240/865508A3-C2C2-487D-B6DB-276B9A09D798.jpeg" title="I wasn’t kidding. So prolific!" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>My final decision on the wish list is to not buy what I will inevitably get given. Last year I was offered courgette and tomato seedlings from 9 different people. Both those good natured plants propagate like billy-o, bless their lovely selves. Any gardener who grows them inevitably ends up with a glut of seedlings and not enough space. I'm going to bank on being offered some*, and will have some less common seedlings to offer in return.</p><p>Next jobs - planning what will go where, which involves looking at last year's planting diagram to make sure I'm rotating my crops and remembering companion planting. Then placing the orders. I love this - all the potential, and dreams of warm summer days in my garden, piucking veg for dinner. </p><p>*If this all backfires, don't worry about us going without. I reorganised the freezer and food cupboards this week. Turn out I have 31 tins of tomatoes in there!</p><p><br /></p>Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-57693451586207747722020-12-25T17:17:00.000+00:002020-12-25T17:17:31.316+00:00Drinking White Wine In the Sun<p> Merry Christmas!</p><p>There's nothing I can say about 2020 that's not been said with more eloquence, style or wit by others so I won't even try. It's been... unusual.</p><p>Celebrating Christmas with just the five of us used to be a rare treat. Grandparents want to see grandkids and vice versa, cousins want to play, so that inevitably meant packing up and heading to North Wales of a good chunk of the holidays - pet care permitting. I used to fantasise about being Just Us - no packing, no complicated cat/hen/rodent/lizard rota with local friends, no fitting in with blended or distant family and their work/custody/travel commitments in a scheduling challenge that would stump lesser souls. The years we were home were fun, partly for the novelty, but mostly Christmas is Family.</p><p>Mum was very <i>very</i> into Christmas. In some ways, the rest of us were drawn along in her wake - she was the mover and shaker, the one around whom we'd orbit. It's our second Christmas without her; it's far more bearable this time but I still feel her absence sharply at the oddest moments. Memories crash through.</p><p>Christmas 1981: I was 12 years old. I'd loved ballet since lessons age 3 - and was a spectacularly incompetent participant of lessons for many years - but had never been to see one live. The National Ballet of Canada was celebrating its 30th Anniversary with a tour of The Nutcracker nationally so Mum bought tickets for the two of us at Hamilton Place (now First Ontario Concert Hall).</p><p>First of all we went to The Sirloin Cellar in downtown Hamilton. This was possibly the most grown up I felt until I was around 25. First you descended the pokey staircase to enter the dark restaurant. As you entered it was a dim room dominated by dark wood and old photographs of Hamilton. To the left was that most macabre of restaurant trends, the aquarium. The twisted swine thought actively choosing which lobster to have boiled alive for your dinner would be fun is surely in one of the more baroque circles of hell. "You look nice, I'll have you murdered." It was a grisly fascination.</p><p>The thing that I most loved about the Sirloin Cellar was the starter - Swedish meatballs. A good 15 years before IKEA's ubiquity, these glorious creations were served above a sort of fondue arangement with a small flame to keep them warm. Sharing a dish with Mum as we discussed main course choices was brilliant. Just us women out on the town.</p><p>A short stroll away was Hamilton Place; a rather unusual looking brick and concrete structure that I knew more for the annual Lionel Blair Panto (yes, <i>really</i>! He spent every panto season in Hamilton Ontario) than the arts. We were in the First Balcony, only a couple of rows back - a wonderful view. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbEzxgnoQ1IDuVlTwLHaQaiJXltHiMaF5xEmWtyYBAXTW_ZKc6qdz3Mh8XqX-KrA0z5VN00ZTWyyAGITXPRCQnMDbnE5xZWepsONZRsQdNc8AkY2ukWkQiTvI6G203YkENySCNvv7iTvg8/s750/Hamilton+place.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="750" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbEzxgnoQ1IDuVlTwLHaQaiJXltHiMaF5xEmWtyYBAXTW_ZKc6qdz3Mh8XqX-KrA0z5VN00ZTWyyAGITXPRCQnMDbnE5xZWepsONZRsQdNc8AkY2ukWkQiTvI6G203YkENySCNvv7iTvg8/w400-h214/Hamilton+place.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Now there's something you need to know about Mum - she took her disaster films VERY seriously. After Jaws she wouldn't go more than knee deep in the ocean for years. After Towering Inferno she took the location of Fire Escapes <b>extremely</b> seriously. </p><p>We took our seats and Mum started. "Jackie, I want you to listen carefully;: if there is a fire you need to know how to get out. Look here - how many rows of seats to the front of the balcony?" "Three, Mum." "That's right. So if there's a fire you go forward THREE rows and climber the barrier. Smoke rises so there might not be a clear view up here, which is why it's important to know the count." "But Mum..." "No, listen, this is important. You climb over the barrier. See how it lines up with the aisle below? You wait until you can see it's clear and you drop. then make your way down the slope to that Fire Escape." "Yeah, but Mum..." "<b>NO</b>, Jackie, Listen to me. How many rows? "Three." "And then what?" "Climb over, wait for a gap, drop, head down the slope to the Fire Escape, but I could..." "No, just make sure you remember. Panic is as dangerous as smoke. You've got it?" "Yes Mum." "OK. What was it you wanted to say?" "Mum, there's a Fire Escape at the end of this row."</p><p>38 years. We teased Mum about that at ever theatre visity for <i>thirty eight years</i>. She took it in good heart, but I never see a theatre Fire Door without thinking of it.</p><p>The ballet was pretty much the most brilliant thing I'd ever experienced. I thought my heart would burst with joy - the music, the dancing, it was beyond my wildest dreams.</p><p>The Nutcracker's Russian dance - the Trepak - is well known, but not to 12 year old me. I'd never heard or seen anything like it. Mum had to put a hand on my knee as it was positively bouncing. The dancers leapt impossible heights, did the splits midair - all perfectly normal choreography in the crowdpleasing juggernaut the Nutcracker remains. But for a first time viewer? My world expanded that day. I didn't know bodies could do that, and that such exhuberance was possible. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCWj782wxrgTdqqx3nkbaUPx9AbwxVIy7UNwaERaRUk_ejfUVnGOsIU04RhF2U18_vs13pA4QKmCp3sZIdDSupCwws5LMhe3FjHqQXQ-zjsmKGUWpQAzL6jermwb84CwKx-FnwFmuEwLx2/s2048/F2A6E5D7-0F13-4303-8467-6FC2B4DA602A.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCWj782wxrgTdqqx3nkbaUPx9AbwxVIy7UNwaERaRUk_ejfUVnGOsIU04RhF2U18_vs13pA4QKmCp3sZIdDSupCwws5LMhe3FjHqQXQ-zjsmKGUWpQAzL6jermwb84CwKx-FnwFmuEwLx2/s320/F2A6E5D7-0F13-4303-8467-6FC2B4DA602A.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>When the music came onto the playlist in the kitchen on Christmas Eve, I was straight back there. Feeling like a Grown Up, out with my Mum as a co-participant and not a little kid, had laughed long and hard about what would become a family joke, and so swept up by the glory of the ballet I thought I'd burst with joy.</p><p>And I miss my Mum. </p><p>I'm lucky to have such strong and wonderful memories. I'm lucky she showed me my favourite thing - and Ballet Weekend is always one of my annual highlights. I'm glad that for many years I could invite her here to Leeds to watch Northern Ballet's Christmas production, sometimes with her grandchildren too. </p><p>NB - There's a link from that day and place to this day and place: a young second soloist of that production, David Nixon, has been the Creative Director of Northern Ballet since 2001. Check out the smart/casual vibe! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlUXPBjR7-6iG02dt-hqgSDkbhZYC_02syOc_8M54mTLtl6LGt8ZotyG9C6B-RjOL5XqCnDJhegayhripLMYC9vD_h2Ee1EYwCBqgIV_6rIyZ9oYMxgsF5SuqFPqZakBdX79gagv9BN67b/s2048/5163E248-9BB8-4F06-B7C1-BBB246268B41.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1876" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlUXPBjR7-6iG02dt-hqgSDkbhZYC_02syOc_8M54mTLtl6LGt8ZotyG9C6B-RjOL5XqCnDJhegayhripLMYC9vD_h2Ee1EYwCBqgIV_6rIyZ9oYMxgsF5SuqFPqZakBdX79gagv9BN67b/s320/5163E248-9BB8-4F06-B7C1-BBB246268B41.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The other strong memory that hit me was this afternoon. </p><p>We'd quite regularly go on holiday with our kids and my parents to Doña Lola, between Malaga and Marbella. My brother and his girls would come too. It wasn't always easy - a large group with different interests, food preferences and ideas of how to have fun. Mark and I like restaurtants and galleries, Mark hates beaches, I love swimming in the sea and hate pools. The younger kids all love the pool and endless ice creams, eldest like pools or video games and quiet, Neil likes games and home food but thinks cities are boring, Dad's mobility was reducing thanks to his arthritis. You can't please everyone. Sometimes it would be frustrating, sometimes harmonious. Families - love them, but also argue with them like a teenager. </p><p>However, there was one perfect time every day. As the sun would dip low, Mum and I would carry a pair of chairs, a pair of glasses and an ice cold bottle of white wine down to the ocean's edge and we'd watch the sun set together. Best bit of my holidays in Spain by far. When the low sun hits my face I thinbk of those warm seashore moments.</p><p>Today Christmas dawned clear and mild. After so much rain it was a gloriously sunny day. I thought it would be foolish to miss it all so as Mark chatted with his parents I popped out to enjoy the last 10 minutes of winter sunshine. It's Christmas, so obviously Tim Minchin's beautiful White Wine In The Sun was a perfect accompaniment. "My brothers, my sisters, my gran and my mum..."</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgizCSAcEnoZryqhEQUX8Z6AfK4Tk3AiF6gg77azJInVtr9DWeSTuYj_V2pGPasmxQCpunC1GNavt4tpEw960CtR8pghOu7NInWmAK0Ij43mPLmjXCun1lh7D2b5YfRy764-dTeboA4nrRA/s2048/852B379D-6AAB-4C3C-8AA0-B7CE60ED8F9D.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgizCSAcEnoZryqhEQUX8Z6AfK4Tk3AiF6gg77azJInVtr9DWeSTuYj_V2pGPasmxQCpunC1GNavt4tpEw960CtR8pghOu7NInWmAK0Ij43mPLmjXCun1lh7D2b5YfRy764-dTeboA4nrRA/s320/852B379D-6AAB-4C3C-8AA0-B7CE60ED8F9D.jpeg" /></a></div><br />Idiot. <p></p><p>That was it - floored because I really do miss my Mum. And drinking white wine with her as the sun set over the Mediterranean really was one of our happiest rituals. I honestly hadn't thought about it; I felt blindsided. </p><p>Christmas is Family. I'm lucky to have mine, even if I can't see some of them right now. I hope you are with yours, and that you are all as well and safe as you can be.</p><p>Take care.</p><p>J</p><p>PS - my full name is Jacqueline. My family called me Jac, and Jackie was for teachers or being told off. You know, like when I'm not paying enough attention to a fire briefing. I've been Jay for 30 years because it suits me better,</p>Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-60601850194136290642020-11-08T18:00:00.001+00:002020-11-08T20:05:15.359+00:00Let the festivities begin!<p> As warm autumn days get rarer and we're all confined to barracks for a month, it's time to think of the future and start preparations for whatever level of Christmas we're able to have. Early November is the ideal time to make mincemeat for this year's mince pies.</p><p>In my experience, there's a hierarchy of mince pies. At the bottom is shop bought, obviously*. Next is a jar of mincemeat and ready roll pastry, which gives a pleasing feeling of accomplishment. Only slightly more work than that (so VERY slightly) is making your own mincemeat and using ready roll pastry. I cannot stress enough how much of a difference this makes. It's streets ahead of the stuff in the jars, and is the work of about half an hour. Even better is fully homemade. The greatest of all is homemade <i><b>by somebody else</b></i> - no mess, no work! Sadly I rarely come across those.</p><p>The wonder of homemade mincemeat is that you can tweak it to your tastes. Use the booze of your choice, go teetotal, alter the spice mix, add chopped nuts or be nut-free, use vegetarian suet if you prefer.</p><br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfM7WtJ9hhnmF6q-Ze-CrEoiEo_vN_K76XWfS-Yr-Z3afd3gHrrqlwvqpy6dqj-afwh9hWkZ8HeQB9-oWOiszPahzrmYtk20BuLmUITcHlLBEel4BplDVtWRGQXme7c-wS_EbbLpcHLxDI/s2048/IMG_7471.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Jars of mincemeat" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfM7WtJ9hhnmF6q-Ze-CrEoiEo_vN_K76XWfS-Yr-Z3afd3gHrrqlwvqpy6dqj-afwh9hWkZ8HeQB9-oWOiszPahzrmYtk20BuLmUITcHlLBEel4BplDVtWRGQXme7c-wS_EbbLpcHLxDI/w320-h308/IMG_7471.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>My recipe is based on the one in Rachel Allen's excellent book, Bake.</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>3 large or 4 small cooking apples</li><li>2 oranges</li><li>2 lemons</li><li>250g suet</li><li>825g of mixed dried fruit (see note 1)</li><li>125g mixed peel</li><li>650g brown sugar </li><li>2-3tsp spice (see note 2)</li><li>150ml dark rum or brandy or whisky or more orange juice</li><li>optional - chopped almons or pecans</li></ul><p>Peel, core and chop the apples then simmer with a splash of water until cooked down to a pulp.</p><p>In a large stock pot or truly <i>enormous</i> bowl, mix the zest and juice of the oranges and lemons with the suet, dried fruit, mixed peel, sugar, spices, alcohol or juice and nuts if using. Add the cooked pulp, mix thoroughly and put into sterilised jars.</p><p>Leave to mature for 2-3 weeks. Easy, right?</p><p>Note 1: Rachel Allen had 275g each of raisins, sultanas and currants only. Personally I think currants are nasty, gritty little things, and I like a touch of sharpness to cut through the sweetness. My prefered mix is about half sultanas and the rest a mix of cranberries, sour cherries, apricots and prunes; I dice the larger fruits to similar sized pieces. Dried fig, glacé cherries or tropical fruits can also work - pick whatever combination apeals to you.</p><p>Note 2 - Allen goes for 2tsp of mixed spice. I grate half a nutmeg with a scant teaspoon each of ground cinnamon, ginger and cloves. I love nutmeg in Christmas food. Just use what you like, ditch what you don't. </p><p>If you're going all out and making shortcrust pastry from scratch, my absolute favourite recipe is from my Sugarcraft tutor at college: German Paste. It's one part sugar, two parts fat, three parts flour and an egg to bind it. Judith liked Trex or margarine for a crisper pastry, I prefer the flavour butter provides. Or go half and half, which is a great compromise. </p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>200g sugar</li><li>400g butter, Trex or combination</li><li>600g plain flour</li><li>1 large egg or 2 small, beaten</li></ul><div>Put the sugar and flour in a food processor and gradually add the fat, followed by the beaten egg. Mix until it just comes together. Bring it into a ball, wrap it in clingfilm or a substitute and leave it to rest in the fridge for at least 30 minutes.</div><div><br /></div><div>For the thinest, crispiest pastry, roll it out very thinly between two sheets of clingfilm or nonstick sheeting rather than on a floured surface and floured rolling pin. Cut out the circles and peel them off the clingfilm to put in a well greased tart tray. Add a heaped teaspoon of mincemeat and top with a pastry star. Wash with beaten egg and bake for 12-15 minutes.</div><div><br /></div><div>The mincemeat recipe does make gargantuan quantities, so if you aren't planning to give it to friends or bake a zillion mince pies, you might prefer to halve it. I once put out a plate of 8 that I took through to the living room while I washed up the baking tray, and when I went through with my cuppa 10 minutes later, Mark and Zach had polished off the lot. We go through a lot of mince pies.</div><p></p>*The exceptions to that hierarchy is Betty's of Harrogate mince pies - which are divine - and people who can't make pastry, who should stick to the ready roll rather than make tough pastry. The more you work it, flour it, roll it out, the tougher it gets. Like with scones, Less Is More for pastry.<p></p>Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-9474300848844115612020-09-01T10:32:00.003+01:002020-09-01T10:41:48.595+01:00And treat those two imposters just the same<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">This is a story of hubris, preserves and living in a sitcom.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">The first thing I did after breakfast on Saturday was to water the poly tunnel and harvest some of the produce. The first batch of tomatillos were ripe, there were 17 jalapeños ready, some dwarf cucumbers and courgettes ranging from acceptable to giant marrows.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">After chucking the marrows to the hens (chickens love them) I laid my haul on the garden table. I called to Mark, "behold, I have a crop of finest Green!" in a daft pompous tone. The photo went to friends and family, Facebook and Twitter; I was extremely satisfied with the fruits of my labours. Downright smug even - look at the Earth Mother growing her veg and making preserves and pickles! How very Good Life. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTJu3LyMGYb1nkFbw_hhyS7fxAA5Ps67qa0Ut1HJjmESh9V4O_W-smj5LqpXgyaNjsZVqPeo4pD6oZfZF-ZeQRGPDSgBoCGKqcg3DqJ_YjcYFDAXu1-I25kuzFzRrb2wF0DFMPHwaSA5OM/w384-h512/0F839CDC-755B-4D8F-A945-1C0934AE7BE3.jpeg" style="text-align: left;" width="384" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I wasn't far off the mark, but not in the way I thought.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">The next thing I did was tackle the overgrown raised bed to remove some of the giant courgette leaves, the borage that had collapsed in the high winds and was drooping across the path and remove the bits that were rotting or dying back. It's a job I'd been putting off because they are extremely prickly plants. Despite long sleeves and gloves, I had the raised bumps and rashes I always get from the many bristles poking into me. My forearms were covered in them. I hate that job.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbD_GCmW-qIQwC_GsaE48iP8KZ2f478letuOCvo65MFC95OwfbzNN_u_W6EbqE_VFyyN-gTG0dz4rof4JSIFN88fYlaCdRbTKDe9BnS31zj8Wh8OoT67yvuNqgFgdVUDSCZ3w6wWtnvg4_/s640/EED093BA-ABA7-48F4-AAFE-408D9874DE9A.jpeg" style="text-align: start;" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Mark and the kids were doing errands in Zach's car (Mum's aged Polo) so I messaged him to ask he buy a big bottle of white vinegar so I could do the pickling in the afternoon. We usually buy the glass bottles with a screw top. This time he bought plastic bottles with the small hole in the stopper (like you use for putting vinegar on your chips) because he thought I might need lots and it was cheaper. This will matter later.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">I was looking forward to making the salsa verde with the tomatillos. You can't buy them easily in the UK and they are delicious. We love Mexican/Central American food in general, really - hence the jalapenos! </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">The counter was *covered* in stuff because I am a slob who lives with slobs. I couldn't be bothered clearing it all properly. I knew I could clean down a working area and ignore the rest - to Mark's horror I can do this perfectly happily. For reference, here's how it looked last week when I was making a curry:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH2jNtYD1JczGvvYxpiLlLHi5f-dtgMTU4SK53fl5g6_iyNNDWaE1K75QEaMmCCQ11BS5HROOdTpvCfrWpIZnr7eMmDeCwHPhjCSSIzOm35wsEnGpl3fLDB-RtAejyX2RVsWiS4Ny9yi2d/s2048/9F193198-AEF9-48BA-8926-6A1134E85154.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH2jNtYD1JczGvvYxpiLlLHi5f-dtgMTU4SK53fl5g6_iyNNDWaE1K75QEaMmCCQ11BS5HROOdTpvCfrWpIZnr7eMmDeCwHPhjCSSIzOm35wsEnGpl3fLDB-RtAejyX2RVsWiS4Ny9yi2d/w197-h262/9F193198-AEF9-48BA-8926-6A1134E85154.jpeg" width="197" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Yes, I am ashamed. Mark can't work in this chaos because he's normal but as long as I can clear and clean a small space I'm good to go. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">First, I peeled the papery cases from the tomatillos, washed their soapy residue off, halved them and roasted them skin up in a very hot oven for 10 minutes. I'd then pop them in the blender with half a chopped onion, a big fistful of coriander, a garlic clove, 3 chillies and the juice of a lime. Whizz it up, salt to taste, and there you've got a fantastic salsa that lasts about a week in the fridge or several months in the freezer.</div></div></div></div></div><div>Spot the food blogging in the anecdote; I'm content-rich, me.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOR8eP9p9oOZOR00nBZbMGg_kLLxtYABf3a9Unii4VuisYYPoMG-dRUVSnCqOkgGbB5GYZCMRTqghQVP-I1sEBAti1ppfKPifFzvd7PqzHgI2QJU67_QP1fDvfbw9QbbeotqL3WOU4bDy-/s2048/14793593-6D8E-44E5-9F62-EC180075030D.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOR8eP9p9oOZOR00nBZbMGg_kLLxtYABf3a9Unii4VuisYYPoMG-dRUVSnCqOkgGbB5GYZCMRTqghQVP-I1sEBAti1ppfKPifFzvd7PqzHgI2QJU67_QP1fDvfbw9QbbeotqL3WOU4bDy-/w307-h410/14793593-6D8E-44E5-9F62-EC180075030D.jpeg" width="307" /></a></div><p>While the tomatillos were cooling, I started on the pickling liquor for the jalapeños.</p><p>My preferred recipe is 250ml water, 250ml vinegar, a teaspoon or sugar, a tablespoon of salt and a few garlic cloves simmered to boiling, to which I add the sliced chilli peppers off the heat and leave them to infuse/gently cook for 10 minutes before putting in a jar. It's very good, I heartily recomment it.</p><p>(See - content! Two recipes already)</p><p>I tried to prise the stopper off the vinegar bottle with the edge of a spoon so I could pour out 250ml, but it wouldn't be shifted. Damn it. I squeezed the plastic bottle into the measuring cup.</p><p>I squeezed a bit hard.</p><p>The stopper came off with a POP and vinegar poured out at force, covering everything.</p><p>Everything.</p><p>Veg, cooking equipment, papers, a book, bowls, fruit, phone, floor, <b><i>me</i></b>.</p><p>I found every single scratch I got pruning back all the prickly stuff this morning. Ow.</p><p>It took me 40 minutes to clear up: wash everything down, mop the floor, rinse the fruit and veg and leave them out to dry, bin the butter in the butter dish, wash the pasta jar, lay out the papers and novel to dry, change clothes, wash up the crockery I doused.</p><p> I was knackered and sweating. </p><p>My (freshly washed) hair and face got covered to. I sweated VINEGAR into my EYES.</p><p>I smelled like a chip shop.</p><p>I want to be an Earth Mother type, whereas I am in fact in a slapstick sitcom or a Carry On film.</p><p>It was the hubris particularly. “Look at my amazing monochrome veg harvest. Isn’t it gorgeous! Aren’t I such a great example, growing and preserving things?” to a Joni Mitchell Ladies Of The Canyon soundtrack. Me in my maxi dress and wellies, tending my crops and preserving my veg.</p><p>Fast forward to vinegar drenched train wreck.</p><p>I did get a happy ending - see the jars below. </p><p>This morning I resolved to have a less farcical experience. I went down the garden to sit in my new swing/hammock chair and read a novel. Swaying gently in the sunshine enjoying a favourite book I was feeling at one with the world.</p><p>Until the hook holding the chair gave way.</p><p>Cue title sequence.</p><p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjIWrnadswlSoQanSGiuvu_cZU6gHnEjqlPaB0uX2A91Q4S7Jun_xQf526sHiHdSfuRvpG6-E_UId3PsaaJg9N9BYn5DMWGOJ2SJPyF1QPdxZYc6OnVLDJF1nlPjRxUgsOFODLsnqceZsu/s2048/6B07CED4-4E97-492E-A03D-83B1E1EA7DB3.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjIWrnadswlSoQanSGiuvu_cZU6gHnEjqlPaB0uX2A91Q4S7Jun_xQf526sHiHdSfuRvpG6-E_UId3PsaaJg9N9BYn5DMWGOJ2SJPyF1QPdxZYc6OnVLDJF1nlPjRxUgsOFODLsnqceZsu/s640/6B07CED4-4E97-492E-A03D-83B1E1EA7DB3.jpeg" /></a></p><p>P.S. No, I'm not kidding, yes, it hurt and I'm on painkillers and yes, it did look ridiculous and yes, I was flat on my back like an upturned tortoise.</p></div>Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-34035933115063932782020-02-10T15:26:00.000+00:002020-02-10T15:26:09.366+00:00<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif;"><span 51="" caret-color:="" rgb="">After a rough week back in July, 2016 I thought of things I'd like to do by the end of the year Mark and I turned 50. Rather than the 'challenge </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">myself' stuff that got me starting the blog in the first place, it's what I thought would help me feel positive, proud of, or just plain enjoy. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZK_r84YKlCQ5cBQaHHOlRGoq0527SKSXJon2OJzUp6L5-fo8PWPzzo2m3pmQLmHT-UQefDuEwmPOBkTSnxQLy1isIWM95_ubFB2zqsQ8P5kqoXoS_OMfCJcThton0W47ze-7YMVCkKB-/s1600/IMG_1760.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZK_r84YKlCQ5cBQaHHOlRGoq0527SKSXJon2OJzUp6L5-fo8PWPzzo2m3pmQLmHT-UQefDuEwmPOBkTSnxQLy1isIWM95_ubFB2zqsQ8P5kqoXoS_OMfCJcThton0W47ze-7YMVCkKB-/s320/IMG_1760.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span 51="" caret-color:="" rgb="">I haven't managed them all but I got 15 of my 20 achieved. </span></div>
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<ol style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.52400016784668px;">
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><b style="background-color: #f3f3f3; font-family: inherit;">Go fishing</b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> - Hurray for fishing - it was great fun. </span></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><b style="font-family: inherit;">See the Giant's Causeway </b><span style="font-family: inherit;">- </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">How has that not happened? Still, current state of arthritic knees makes it hard to imagine it happening in the near future</span></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><b style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">Try salsify and Jerusalem artichokes</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span>- </b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Salsify didn't taste of very much, Jerusalem artichokes were OK. </span></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><b style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">Go rock pooling</span> </b><span style="font-family: inherit;">- A happy day at Sandsend took care of that</span></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><b style="font-family: inherit;">Sing in a choir</b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> - </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I think I'm over this one. Somehow I'm not bothered anymore. </span></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><b style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">Grow cut flowers</span> </b><span style="font-family: inherit;">- Huge success! </span></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><b style="background-color: #f3f3f3; font-family: inherit;">See live music</b><b style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"> - </b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Since first writing the list I've seen James, Elbow and George Ezra.</span></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><b style="background-color: #f3f3f3; font-family: inherit;">Visit Hadrian's Wall</b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> - What a lovely day out that was!</span></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><b style="font-family: inherit;">Spend all day at the movies</b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> - </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nearly managed it then life got complicated. </span></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.52400016784668px; margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><b style="background-color: #f3f3f3; font-family: inherit;">Learn to apply make up properly</b><b font-family:="" inherit=""> </b>- Heather-in-London got for sorted, but the hot flushes of menopause mean it's a skill I can't use just now. No one needs mascara running to their chin.</li>
<li><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"><b>See the Northern Lights</b> </span>- TICK! Best thing imaginable.</li>
<li><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"><b style="background-color: white;">Go whale-watching</b> </span>- Also TICK! A morning watching a pod of orca hunt for herring before a night chasing Aurora Borealis. What a day.</li>
<li><span style="background-color: white;"><b style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">Learn a new range of cooking</b> </span>- I can make loads of curries now, and am not intimidated by long lists of spices</li>
<li><b><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">S</span><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">ew something I can wear</span></b> - My slouchy jersey T Shirt was a lot of fun to make</li>
<li><b style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">See a new ballet company</b> - My birthday trip to Covent Garden was amazing. What a venue, what a company</li>
<li><b>Learn to play a song on an instrument</b> - Another music based challenge I moved past, totally forgot.</li>
<li><b><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">Go Birdwatching on the Farne Islands</span> </b>- Not only that but Bempton Cliffs twice AND met lovely Iolo Williams from Springwatch</li>
<li><b><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">Return to Paris</span> </b>- (and eat enough cheese to sink a ship) TICK</li>
<li><b style="background-color: #f3f3f3;">Cook a decent roast dinner</b> - I can roast a chicken!!!!! I've done it three times and didn't even need to name the last one. My first attempt, with Janice the Zombie Chicken was pretty traumatic for us both (especially Janice, because she was dead) but I feel confident about it now</li>
<li><b>Build sandcastles</b> - because it's fun yet I never do it anymore. And still haven't.</li>
</ol>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI9Yvl9QqOGxVJA6kNiDz72BpkGHwZo7xOggtChmeMPiajY7_WgBoXR359-ufFFJFhbiB6yjJBOiBBy8R2FilkM9t8GulqpqYj6oW-C6qLi5X8m8fK0jH6ViyPgDMDnX9Y-YRve0k4tkWN/s1600/IMG_5008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI9Yvl9QqOGxVJA6kNiDz72BpkGHwZo7xOggtChmeMPiajY7_WgBoXR359-ufFFJFhbiB6yjJBOiBBy8R2FilkM9t8GulqpqYj6oW-C6qLi5X8m8fK0jH6ViyPgDMDnX9Y-YRve0k4tkWN/s200/IMG_5008.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I made a T shirt!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
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<div>
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<div>
In addition I've seen a starling murmuration, made a stained glass artwork, organised annual street parties, seen 2 of my children reach adulthood, gone on marches and protests, rejoined active feminist campaigning, been to Venice, played virtual reality video games (badly!), swum in a river, built and aviary and kept quail, eaten a tasting menu at a Michelin starred restaurant, met several of my heroes, seen loads of theatre and tried a number of new crafts.</div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiztKJvW5ZKz7XjLKnbbYatYxfDyJzHnH9xb7IL9_V7jCa9mjQ0Z6NfnMSiVTR9Ahi-ydY7w4FT-XW-dItNrKLQDn8rBztZmF1HfetLvjdpqyxR4VjnUspimlPBeanQlGiEyx0KjFEjQBDH/s1600/IMG_4987.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiztKJvW5ZKz7XjLKnbbYatYxfDyJzHnH9xb7IL9_V7jCa9mjQ0Z6NfnMSiVTR9Ahi-ydY7w4FT-XW-dItNrKLQDn8rBztZmF1HfetLvjdpqyxR4VjnUspimlPBeanQlGiEyx0KjFEjQBDH/s200/IMG_4987.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stained glass </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now to look forward...</div>
<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvN0hL7d15tqAWrAYqg1FKEgNJGQGIg7rFEVlksJPiNuEnHSenO7YUUFq2pwSiZHVDWIr-UhAMHts7VD2rWwYxQlEDJpwx0TUB_1yjXR83b2l0iQ7jk2JAF-iq8onvg7khWSx_rIjB_EdC/s1600/IMG_5601.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvN0hL7d15tqAWrAYqg1FKEgNJGQGIg7rFEVlksJPiNuEnHSenO7YUUFq2pwSiZHVDWIr-UhAMHts7VD2rWwYxQlEDJpwx0TUB_1yjXR83b2l0iQ7jk2JAF-iq8onvg7khWSx_rIjB_EdC/s400/IMG_5601.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Starling murmurations are amazing</td></tr>
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Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-8912305507927733092020-02-03T14:09:00.001+00:002020-02-03T14:09:29.490+00:00Present or correctHere we are at the start of February, having seemingly skipped winter altogether. The weather in Yorkshire's been a long wet autumn and the garden's still flooded. It may not be the drama and catastrophe of the Australian fires, but our weather pattern is deeply messed up. The water in the poultry drinkers has only frozen 3 times. It used to be a regular occurrence.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My plans of a wildflower meadow may be doomed this year - having carefully collected yellow rattle seeds in August, the bottom of the garden has been either sodden or actually under several centimetres of water and we haven't had the succession of cold snaps needed to germinate the seeds.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrxOaDrqvos5uV2ZEw2aq8I3WpNA622Bpg2Is27QiZCM7liMkAImy7_igNnzEGgJbXdz0weKrshZsbcl8oVLha1wwablwkRcd1Be-i53M2Wmn9Lk_bnbDLYSGfKt27FmZDgpu2Wq1PnON/s1600/IMG_5577.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrxOaDrqvos5uV2ZEw2aq8I3WpNA622Bpg2Is27QiZCM7liMkAImy7_igNnzEGgJbXdz0weKrshZsbcl8oVLha1wwablwkRcd1Be-i53M2Wmn9Lk_bnbDLYSGfKt27FmZDgpu2Wq1PnON/s640/IMG_5577.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Less a garden, more a swamp</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yellow rattle is a semi-parasitic plant that draws much of its energy from hijacking the roots of grasses, so it's a useful tool when wanting to diminish a lawn's vigour and allow native plants to flourish. I was so pleased to find some in a meadow to harvest, in the hopes of making the garden a more wildlife friendly habitat. Ah well, we'll see how it plays out.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My wildlife camera has been a bit of disappointment so far. Plenty of action, almost all of it Gonzo. Just the occasional clip of Isaac, or rain heavy enough to trigger the motion sensor. I'm hoping spring will bring a little more variety.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLJUT5AqnTYMqNRdBc8ipR8SuPNurmUt5CbzBRvdPmVWDJLqfUWt3vwPwQ1w8Uk5K8u_9IiWKk4T-8tPORAXNEdzOPXffizQIT-bVonsjJsEOs2hzIG5MNdVH0DJ66DH4-lRAdlxdZKifr/s1600/IMG_5587.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLJUT5AqnTYMqNRdBc8ipR8SuPNurmUt5CbzBRvdPmVWDJLqfUWt3vwPwQ1w8Uk5K8u_9IiWKk4T-8tPORAXNEdzOPXffizQIT-bVonsjJsEOs2hzIG5MNdVH0DJ66DH4-lRAdlxdZKifr/s320/IMG_5587.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not the wildlife we were hoping for</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Ballet Weekend rolled around again and if anything it surpassed itself. On Friday I took myself to see the uplifting and delightful Come From Away. It's basically a hug in theatre form. Saturday afternoon I treated my Very Excellent Mate Bon to her first trip to see Hamilton. New cast for the third year, so I got to see some different interpretations of the roles, and Bon was (obviously) absolutely smitten. It was brilliant. Then Bon treated me to The Red Shoes at Sadler's Wells. I actually enjoyed it more this time - having never seen the original film I was a bit lost on our first viewing. All in all the weekend was a wonderful break in an otherwise challenging month,</div>
<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAGQb_t7sjY_i7LSeC56Uf-DHRCyMBzKaHovjXHpk7nq2mbv4al3j3WIQJ0hmYaqOGKOMReKiKeo8K3rnk80w0wIjwdvc5moVNLklQ4z49OZKWuweY_6vGgMhv9ETrNIciYOpe8KuOrvqW/s1600/IMG_5757.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAGQb_t7sjY_i7LSeC56Uf-DHRCyMBzKaHovjXHpk7nq2mbv4al3j3WIQJ0hmYaqOGKOMReKiKeo8K3rnk80w0wIjwdvc5moVNLklQ4z49OZKWuweY_6vGgMhv9ETrNIciYOpe8KuOrvqW/s400/IMG_5757.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sitting in The Room Where It Happens once again</td></tr>
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<div>
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<div>
I confess I loathe January and am glad to see the back of it. It's got too many birthdays. Typically, I've used up all my gift ideas (and money) at Christmas. However from December 23 to January 29th I have a stretch with my father-in-law, daughter, eldest niece, younger niece, brother, mum and son to buy for - and celebrate with - where appropriate. Mum's birthday was difficult but at least we're past it now. Zach's was lovely - deferred celebration until his mock exams were over, and he has such a lovely gang of friends.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So here we are, the plethora of birthdays over until the April cluster (me, Dad, Luke) and the days lengthening enough for the hens to start laying. This is good. Spring's not far away, and everything is better in the spring.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Something odd happened last week. I was fannying about on an internet forum - OK, Mumsnet; I came for the radical feminism and stayed for the craziness of the AIBU board - and responding to something about mothers, I wrote "My Mum loved that too."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Loved.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Past tense.</div>
<div>
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<div>
That's the first time I used the past tense without having correct myself from the present. It jolted me. I've been saying "Mum's got those shoes; Mum hates risotto; Mum sews her own clothes; Mum likes musicals but not opera so much..." for months now. Yes, obviously I know she is dead - and I had to write to the people who hadn't heard when the Christmas cards to "Kate and Bri" arrived. But I hadn't - oh hell, I don't know - adjusted to it? Acknowledged that she's in our past not our present, maybe? Each month that takes me further away from her feels like a betrayal. I'm not sure by whom, her for dying or me for living. Grief isn't terribly rational.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But suddenly there is was, a past tense. An admission that Mum's not here, that it's memories not current events. I think it's probably healthy. I'm sure it's normal. But I'm not sure how I feel about it yet.</div>
<div>
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</div>
Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-3644637415456741552019-12-30T20:56:00.000+00:002019-12-31T11:19:58.489+00:00That's amoreWhen the moon hits your eye...<br />
<br />
PIZZA, baby!<br />
<br />
<br />
Because I had the good luck at 17 to meet the best person I'll ever know (although granted, he was well-disguised as a scrawny self-important teen with a prog rock fascination I will <b>never</b> understand) AND the good sense to stay with the ornery cuss for 33 years, I am in the fortunate position of living with someone who loves and knows the very soul of me. As a result, his gift selection is brilliant.<br />
<br />
I was dreading Christmas this year - the first year without Mum and to a large degree without Dad too because he needed to ignore it all for his own wellbeing. Mark found things to rekindle my excitement and engagement in the world. The man's a magician.<br />
<br />
First amazing gift was from my parents-in-law at M's suggestion. They got me a wildlife camera so we can see who and what visits our garden at night. I'm absolutely delighted. I know we've had some hedgehogs over that past 2 years and that foxes visit to hope for a wandering hen (never mind the rodent corpses our cats thoughtfully provide) but actually seeing what comes when, and how it behaves is very exciting.<br />
<br />
I've spent my Christmas money from my brother on a large charger and lots of rechargeable batteries so I can run the camera down the bottom of the garden. My plan is to move it every few days until we discover where we are most likely to see our nocturnal visitors.<br />
<br />
The next brilliant gift was my own personal Springwatch experience.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://fearlesslyattempting.blogspot.com/2018/04/the-happiness-of-being-fan.html" target="_blank">I love Springwatch</a>. I love Chris and Michaela and poor deposed Martin and I'm bearing with Gillian hoping she finds her feet as a presenter eventually but above all I love Iolo Williams. He's the lanky Welshman who bubbles over with enthusiasm and delight at all wild encounters in this tiny but remarkable country. Iolo's the reason we went to the <a href="https://fearlesslyattempting.blogspot.com/2017/09/some-diems-need-to-be-carped.html" target="_blank">Farne Island</a>s and why I wanted to see a murmuration - I didn't know such things existed and he inspired me with a desire to seek them out.<br />
<br />
He's doing a talk at a centre near my Dad for a local wildlife charity. Mark's got tickets for Dad and me and a copy of Iolo's book about UK wildlife so I can get it signed. I'm beyond delighted.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6yHqdpcyTTI-jvWPKkSJG5U_4BgdyNicFmU_6Kh7nsyXr1eAByTZhMtuvfOEG3TOy1_nE1rFBmlib0iXR2rhGwHiG1YT8ZwTGuZezEc_zv_69r9GNnPIQ527Agg6qzlq934lABUPMbyqX/s1600/IMG_5703.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6yHqdpcyTTI-jvWPKkSJG5U_4BgdyNicFmU_6Kh7nsyXr1eAByTZhMtuvfOEG3TOy1_nE1rFBmlib0iXR2rhGwHiG1YT8ZwTGuZezEc_zv_69r9GNnPIQ527Agg6qzlq934lABUPMbyqX/s320/IMG_5703.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
So far, so middle aged twitcher. Which is an identity I am proud to acknowledge, by the way.<br />
<br />
But the third gift...<br />
<br />
That's the "yeah, great, thanks for the two scented tree resins, Caspar and Melchior, but where's Balthazar with the gold?" gift. Not just ace but <i>brilliant</i>.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://uk.ooni.com/products/ooni-3?gclid=CjwKCAiA3abwBRBqEiwAKwICA1hRs-PSIV69MqD3tVZQdWJN1iREqS61SjADiTmgvcRYrJSPYCmm7BoC0TEQAvD_BwE" target="_blank">A pizza oven.</a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUXQsVEH13281IH8QKGIj_uoyhylK5qmJ-70_YcpkKAKnN1oIGf-IDhBhotVVqAtE6gwGTcpS45SjycSus0vDfSfbcHb4w7tLSDY7OGgP5LQ3kXrdYZNNIyPE3aT8vKXgOPV0mQ0bzCrCR/s1600/IMG_5709.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUXQsVEH13281IH8QKGIj_uoyhylK5qmJ-70_YcpkKAKnN1oIGf-IDhBhotVVqAtE6gwGTcpS45SjycSus0vDfSfbcHb4w7tLSDY7OGgP5LQ3kXrdYZNNIyPE3aT8vKXgOPV0mQ0bzCrCR/s320/IMG_5709.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">assembled inside, but for OUTSIDE use only</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
I know it's a fairly shameful claim, but we eat more pizza than any family I know. Luke would eat pizza for every meal of his life if he could. I love Roman, Neopolitan, Chicago style - all of it. I remember my horror moving to the UK in 1985 and seeing the ghastly cardboard discs passing as "pizza" here, and my cousins' bemusement at my disgust. (Britain, I love you but your food prior to the 90s was a damned disgrace). I've experimented with lots of different dough recipes, various cooking techniques, bought pizza tins, stones and peels. Ever since my Very Excellent Mate Nic talked about how she and Ady built a cob pizza oven on their croft on Rum I've been trying to persuade Mark we need one.<br />
<br />
The Ooni 3 is a work of genius. Like my beloved Eglu did for hen-keeping, it makes wood-fired pizzas a doddle in your back garden. It's portable, it takes 15 minutes to heat up rather than the 4-6 hours of a cob oven and the pizzas cook in under 2 minutes. They are beyond anything -<br />
I can't recommedt them enough. I made around 8 of them today, I think, maybe more.<br />
<br />
The dough recipe I used was a very simple one - 500g strong flour, 300g water, 7g quick acting yeast and a heaped teaspoon of salt. I put it in the kitchen mixer for 10-15 minutes then moved it to an oiled, covered bowl in a warm spot in the kitchen. The first batch was done while the kitchen door was open and it was really cold so I popped it in the Instant Pot on the "yogurt making" setting for 90 minutes. The second sat in a sunny window.<br />
<br />
Each dough batch made 5 balls weighing 160g. After a second prove I kneaded and stretched each into a 24-30cm circle (this is a lie, they were weird splodges). I put flour on the peel (official name for that metal flat thing that gets pizzas out of ovens) and <strike>plopped</strike> <i>carefully placed</i> the dough on it. 2 spoons of pizza sauce, a scattering of olives/pepperoni/nothing, a generous sprinkling of mozzarella and a quick shimmy to get it from peel to oven.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf5UYGhPWipLq8B_dlkQ-Ax2eaWNC0heUv6dwaJmn9i-h2lEW-jrtiQYbhcbfORqceTrLio2LHHymkxM9PpIS0vHt-oCyxdnFtmFhSpYrTYljPIEq1W4tJJAr7HSVa4XKgzXnUPEKiSytb/s1600/IMG_5713.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf5UYGhPWipLq8B_dlkQ-Ax2eaWNC0heUv6dwaJmn9i-h2lEW-jrtiQYbhcbfORqceTrLio2LHHymkxM9PpIS0vHt-oCyxdnFtmFhSpYrTYljPIEq1W4tJJAr7HSVa4XKgzXnUPEKiSytb/s320/IMG_5713.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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The thing cooks unbelieveably quickly. I charred the first one because I couldn't believe 30 seconds was enough before turning. (it was)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLqdocsPSgadRFUSQbBMO9N1-NXJx9J1Eifx9pwBUHlM3uwWbqj-nJxjRhjtXv9hrHVxlAFQAYhl4XiPBd_y-xLQ2EwFzTT5eZaVrvDv1vNUJE5npjFKeIq9l9yLTCyjm5Wb95Vo37KOwN/s1600/IMG_5714.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLqdocsPSgadRFUSQbBMO9N1-NXJx9J1Eifx9pwBUHlM3uwWbqj-nJxjRhjtXv9hrHVxlAFQAYhl4XiPBd_y-xLQ2EwFzTT5eZaVrvDv1vNUJE5npjFKeIq9l9yLTCyjm5Wb95Vo37KOwN/s320/IMG_5714.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">in which we learn 60 seconds a side is too long</td></tr>
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<br />
Using the peel, I pulled the pizza out every 30 seconds or so and rotated it 180 degrees. Within 90 seconds to 2 minutes (depending on the temperature of the baking stone at the heart of the oven) each pizza was perfectly cooked.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRDs9mV480IPH_gTXyVyHoFa9zFzf8VumAbLBBADa4fOx7LZBU-BHn2KoMf4puyL7Kv2EtYeP3So-chgLbiuSP88TphGET9gOlpbG3anats2k5abw5AiP5dPD8d3d1isQQOudFblGOR3AF/s1600/IMG_5715.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRDs9mV480IPH_gTXyVyHoFa9zFzf8VumAbLBBADa4fOx7LZBU-BHn2KoMf4puyL7Kv2EtYeP3So-chgLbiuSP88TphGET9gOlpbG3anats2k5abw5AiP5dPD8d3d1isQQOudFblGOR3AF/s320/IMG_5715.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">one of many misshapen but delicious pizzas</td></tr>
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<div>
<br /></div>
I had a brilliant time. I was supposed to be making dinner for everyone but I got overexcited and made pizza for a late lunch first. This was serendipitous, as trying to use an unfamiliar cooking technique with FIRE and at up to 500 degrees Celsius in the dark would have been a nightmare. I did have a second batch in the dark but it was much harder to see whether things were cooked/burnt/undercooked so in future I'll stick to cooking with actual visibility.<br />
<br />
It was wonderful to find things that are fun and exciting, especially when I'd anticipated this season with a fair amount of dread.<br />
<br />
If you need me, I'll be pitting olives and sourcing 00 flour online for the foreseeable future.<br />
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Happy New Year, and may the coming decade be kinder than the last.Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-49008828228565197432019-12-20T15:06:00.000+00:002019-12-20T18:23:09.806+00:00It's been a weird yearThis is likely to be a clunky post. It's the "Previously in Jay's 2019", the one that recaps where I've been so I can move on.<br />
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The year started dreadfully because our ace Luke was in a bad way. Accessing mental health support when each arm of the service says "Yes, he's clearly badly in need of help, but not our specialised flavour of it" is exhausting and upsetting. However, things did improve eventually.<br />
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Obviously Mum's illness and death meant May and June barely registered.<br />
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A mystery illness in July had me admitted to hospital and meant I missed both RHS Tatton show and cancelled our 25th anniversary celebrations. In September it ceased to be a mystery and became an emergency surgery, onvernight stay in ICU, week-long stay in hospital on many drips and a long, slow recovery at home which pretty much ate up my life through to early November. It also scared the bejeezus out of Mark. However, I managed not to die so that's a good thing.<br />
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Luke and I had an overnight visit to London where we ate pizza 4 times in 4 different places to decide on London's Best Pizza (we have done previous research on this important topic in the past). My part in this wasn't very scientific because I had a different pizza at each place, so my contribution was mainly financial. Luke was a purist, naturally, and had a Margarita at each one.<br />
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Pizza Union was cheap and cheerful but its crust was far too crunchy and toppings a bit slapdash. Pizza Express was its usual self - overpriced for what it is but enjoyable enough. Pizza Pilgrims had a great sourdough base but the sauce and toppings were very soggy. <a href="https://www.sohojoe.net/" target="_blank">Soho Joe</a> was the runaway winner - great sourdough base, good sauce, plenty of cheese. Very friendly service too. <br />
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We also managed to fit in Book of Mormon and some serious book shopping time as well. That was the highlight of my autumn.<br />
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Mark turned 50 and bought a crazy car - swapped the much-loathed Ford for an enormous aged Lexus that's got both a hybrid engine and a cassette deck. It's very comfortable but also very funny. Cassettes. Seriously.<br />
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Understandably, Dad is very much not in the mood for Christmas. I did all his shopping/wrapping stuff to give him the chance to opt out, and then tackled my own. I feel like I've been wrapping things for days, but it's all done now - if not to my usual standards nor enthusiasm.<br />
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The kids have been great - they understand that I'm not feeling very celebratory and have stepped in to some of my previous roles. Mark and B chose the Christmas tree - only needed a mere 3 foot cutting off it to fit it in the house, and took a bit of the doorframe with it - and the 4 of them decorated it without me. They were very thoughtful and didn't use any of the handmade decorations I made with Mum when was young. Finding a message from her on a gift bag I was reusing had me in tears all day, so the fewer trigger points to trip me up the better, quite frankly. Grief is hard.<br />
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Because the universe hadn't finished being cruel, Dad's closest friend died last week. He was a lovely man and a great support to Dad. His poor family will have a damned rough Christmas.<br />
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I've been trying to keep my Reasons To Be Cheerful 1,2,3 project on Twitter going through this year, even when it felt very hard to find them. Above all my reason for cheerfulness has been the compassion, love and support I have been lucky enough to receive from my family, friends and neighbours. I'm a very fortunate woman, I know truly lovely people. My garden and its produce has remained a source of happiness and balance. Recognising and appreciating small pleasures whrn they occur has also been important.<br />
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As I escape this ghastly year, I wish everyone a peaceful New Year. I wish that hope, compassion and good hearts are enough to make 2020 better for all of us.<br />
Have a good Christmas, however you're spending it.<br />
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<br />Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-17819786535417771972019-08-15T17:02:00.001+01:002019-08-15T18:16:04.621+01:00What a difference a day makesThe day I wrote my last blog post, Monday April 29th, was the day everything changed.<br />
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It was the last day of Luke's teens. Miss B was going to a friend's house after Rounders so the four of us could watch Avengers Endgame. (It's not that B couldn't come, she just isn't interested.) We couldn't go on the opening weekend because Z was on a camping trip so we'd been extremely careful to avoid spoilers. We had brilliant seats, we'd been looking forward to it for ages, it was going to be A Good Day.<br />
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As <strike>not monsters</strike> polite patrons, we all turned our phones off for the three hours plus trailers. It was a good film. Or at least I think it was, because I honestly don't remember much. Events rather overtook us.<br />
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In the lobby of Leeds Everyman Zach was the first to turn his phone back on. He was already ringing back a missed caller when I saw I'd missed numerous calls from Mum. "Hi, Nana, yes, she's right here - Mum, Nana wants to speak to you."<br />
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On Good Friday 10 days before, the four of us went to a screening of Monty Python's Life Of Brian with Mum, Dad, my niece and her pal. It was tremendous fun culminating in an audience singsong. When we got back to the house I noticed Mum had an awful bruise on her hand. "Wow, what happened? That looks dreadful?" Mum was startled. She hadn't hurt herself, didn't feel anything. Odd.<br />
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She mentioned the following day she was feeling really tired. She'd just had a 17 year old move in, so I thought that wasn't really surprising. Teens are ace but knackering. Over the next week she was increasingly exhausted as she carried out her normal active life - Nordic walking... I swear I'm a changeling in that family - but not being able to manage her usual number of matches at her beloved table tennis showed something was clearly Not Right. She went to the GP on Monday morning for a blood test.<br />
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"The doctors say there's something wrong with my blood, my bone marrow isn't working. I have to go in tonight for a transfusion."<br />
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And that was it. New rules applied.<br />
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It's not supposed to be this way. Mum is the one who is supposed to live to a grand old age. Dad's had so many health problems, he looks increasingly frail when something else hits him - he lived through sepsis and complications following surgery in the last two years alone. Colin's 80 and had a quadruple bypass over 20 years ago, turned down a subsequent one. Marion's health has been lousy for years, and she struggles to get farther than her garden. Mum was the youngest, the fittest, the one with the most smoking-free years, the one with the healthy lifestyle and active engagement in the world. Everything you're supposed to be. Everything that's supposed to keep you in good health.<br />
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The narrative went wrong. The wolf ate Red Riding Hood, the ugly sister marry the prince. There are supposed to be rules, damn it.<br />
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20 days from the blood test, my Mum died.<br />
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On the whole, it was a good death. 15 years too early, but good. Her illness was short with very little pain, just exhaustion really. She could make her peace with what was coming, she reflected on her life and said she'd been so very lucky. She could say her goodbyes - in person or by text to her cheering squad of friends and family on a WhatsApp group we made for her. I was able to stay overnight a few nights, thanks to the lovely staff at The Christie in Manchester, so she wasn't alone for much of it, and she was with Dad, Neil and I when she died. As her oxygen levels dropped, the morphine kept her from feeling distress and she died holding our hands.<br />
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Everyone said I'd been great. Everyone said I'd been a rock, a wonderful daughter. It's bullshit. I did it because I could, and I *had* to do something. Sitting at her side all day, getting drinks, pulling lip salve on to stop them cracking, moisturising her hands and feet in the dry hospital air, helping with bedpans and meals, drinks and CPAP masks... these were all small and achievable things. Even the travel was nice - the transpenine rail journey is a breautiful one and the tram from Victoria to West Didsbury goes through some lovely areas. That was the easy stuff. Sitting at home wondering what was happening would have been far harder.<br />
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I knew Mum was dying. So did Mum. We talked about it, which is a bloody difficult conversation to have. She didn't want to distress me, and I wanted her to be able to talk and just ignore my leaky eyes because that was OK, it didn't matter, and I couldn't stop it so let's just not worry about that and keep talking.<br />
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She was frightened of suffocating. I promised I'd intervene, I'd be her advocate and fight for what she needed when she couldn't, to make it as unscary and as gentle as possible. She remembered her own Dad's death, and how desperately she tried to hold on to him when he was ready to die. He asked her to let him go; it was so hard for her. She didn't want that for us. I can't speak for Neil, I know he and Dad were blindsided by it which makes everything harder, but I was OK. Mum knew she was dying, she knew how she wanted it to be and I could help.<br />
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We talked about the funeral. She used to want to be creamated but later decided burial, especially an environmentally sensitive woodland burial, would be better. "And don't let your brother get one of those tacky floral MUM displays. You know what he's like!" Yes, I do know, and it's OK Mum, I've got you covered.<br />
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In the immediate aftermath, I rang Mark to come and fetch me. Dad and Neil were reluctant to leave me alone at the hospital, but quite honestly it was a relief. I've never liked crying in front of people, and I was struck numb anyway. Best to have a little time to sit quietly.<br />
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I rang the few people I thought would need to know in person, then sent out a message across WhatsApp, Facebook Messanger, email and text to everyone else. That was OK too, although talking was hard, except to my cousin Al who loved Mum like a mother so was in the same boat, really. People obviously wanted to express their grief, their shock, their sympathy. I didn't want to listen - it felt like a burden I had to help them carry and I didn't have it in me. I just wanted to be quiet and still.<br />
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Dad kept crying, and yelling at himself for crying. I didn't cry, not much. I still don't. A little leaks out now and then but it's soon shushed and moved to the side. It's not like Dad, it's not that I don't think I should cry - I do! I think it would be natural and healthy. But I can't face it. I can't let it out because I don't know if I could stop, how to regain control again once I started.<br />
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Words help. Words always help. They give things form, make it possible to turn them around, inspect from different angles, reinterpret the world.<br />
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Some of the words -<br />
It's a wood. There is a path. Mo, Kim and all the other medical staff at The Christie showed us that path, explained the obstacles and terrain we'd encounter on the way, but ultimately we'd go from Having Cancer to Remission to Transplant and then to Healthy. That made the cancer far less scary. I took notes while they talked so I could keep on track, I could hold the information and share it to everyone as needed, so no one needed to frightened or misinterpret or feel lost. We have a path and I have the map safe.<br />
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Then there's a huge box in the path. A Pandorica, a Pandora's box, a monolith. It completely fills the path, there's no way past it. And maybe inside the box is Mum, gone, out of reach, locked away. Or maybe it's grief in the box. I don't know. But there's such an enormous block and as I walk towards it I sheer away. I swerve. We're like magnets repelling. I can't get close to it, my self-defence moves me to the side. Then I shut down. Napping, watching telly, sitting in the garden still and quiet for two hours at a time.<br />
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I don't know what the correct response to bereavment is, but I don't think this is it. All the time I have tasks to focus on, I'm just fine. List of funeral directors, research what to ask, send out enquiries. Research flowers, celebrants, coffins, what are normal processes, who else do we need to tell, what is the next step.<br />
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Six days after Mum died I had my long-awaited trio to London (50th birthday present) to see the Royal Ballet at Covent Garden. At the time I'd have said I had a brilliant day in London. It was truly remarkable, so much sunshine and happiness. There were tricky moments bubbling up, but I mostly revelled in the warmth, the beautiful things, the music, the remarkable building.<br />
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As I experienced it I thought I was putting my grief aside for a few hours. However, it didn't work out like that in the long run.<br />
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The trip down was great, being handed free bouquet and a book was lovely, the Royal Ballet was as wonderful as I hoped and the Royal Opera House itself is absolutely magnificent. But when I think back to the day it's tainted by the numbness of trying to keep the grief at bay. Of oversharing and crying at strangers on the train home. (Oh god, those poor women!) Of crying in the shop changing room as I chose my outfit for the funeral. Of the shop worker hugging me, she used to be an oncology nurse. Of pouring so much energy into keeping the door closed on grief I couldn't fully experience anything. The loss was so new and raw.<br />
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It was in a fabric printing workshop a few weeks later that it all burst out. We were supposed to be doing a moment of quiet reflection before the next project started, and I cracked. Grief poured out in loud, messy sound. I wailed, I shrieked. I locked myself in the bathroom and howled snottily until I couldn't breathe. It was hideously embarrassing to rejoin everyone, but I did feel a pressure had lifted. At least it hadn't happened at the funeral. Public displays of distress are very much not my thing.<br />
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I stopped seeing people. I knew they would want to express their condolences, to talk to me about it and I just couldn't face it. My Very Excellent Mate Kirsty was an absolute rock, bless her, and listened to my babblings for hours, administering coffee and cake regularly. I avoided everyone else, even some of my very dearest friends because I just didn't know what to say. Mark wanted to comfort me but I wouldn't accept comfort, I just wanted to close myself inwards, turn everything off.<br />
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Now we're at nearly 3 months since Mum died. Dad's done lots of the admin associated with death, and had to face his loss every minute of every day. It's heartbreaking. I'm so proud of him and I hate that he has to go through this. I've done bugger all, except help sort some of the more personal items out - emptying handbags, sorting jewellery and toiletries, that sort of thing. I'm not as numb, but I'm still far from accepting it. I go to ring her regularly. I take photos to send her and remember I can't.<br />
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I'm lucky. I lost someone from the right generation - not a partner, not a child but a parent, the way you are supposed to as people get older. I have friends and cousins haven't been so fortunate, and that's been just awful.<br />
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I'm lucky. I had my Mum with me until I was 50 years old. Mum lost both her parents by 38.<br />
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I'm lucky. We argued and blew up at each other sometimes, but we had brilliant times together too, and we knew we loved and were loved. Not all people have that relationship with their parents.<br />
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I'm lucky. I didn't have to see Mum dwindle and suffer, to lose herself to dementia or be trapped in an ailing body. She was fit and active and relishing life until her final weeks.<br />
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I'm lucky that Kate Williams was my Mum. But I don't feel very lucky just now.<br />
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<br />Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-30415612375085297662019-04-29T13:51:00.000+01:002019-04-29T13:51:52.991+01:00Dear ZooHappy Birthday!<div>
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I've passed my half century, along with my First Ever Best Buddy Beth, Cerys Matthews of 6 Music, and the Open University. Balloons and cake to us all!</div>
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Like your typical <strike>eight year old</strike> fifty year old, I made the excellent decision to take a picnic to the zoo. I say zoo, I mean the <a href="https://www.yorkshirewildlifepark.com/" target="_blank">Yorkshire Wildlife Park</a> in Doncaster which is a friendly and excellent place. It functions partly as a normal zoo and partly retirement home for animals no longer in the zoo breeding programme. It's one of my favourite places and somewhere all five of us enjoy.</div>
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Feeling pretty lazy, I bought a pack of fondant fancies to serve as a mini birthday cake. Feeling hungry, I made spanokopita to take with us on the picnic.</div>
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Leeds used to have a place called Salt's Deli, and their spanokopita was to die for. They vanished some years back and I really had a hankering for the lovely spinach and filo pie. As usual, I turned to Felicity Cloake of The Guardian for recipe advice. I roughly followed her recipe <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/food/2018/aug/22/how-to-cook-the-perfect-spanakopita-greek-spinach-feta-pie" target="_blank">here</a>.</div>
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I reduced the spinach from 1kg to 750g and would recommend increasing the feta to 350g. Chopping and massaging a tablespoon of salt through the fresh spinach did work, but I had to put it in a colander with heavy weights on to help remove the excess liquid.</div>
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It was a pretty easy recipe and I highly endorse it - it was delicious and kept me in lunches for several days. My VEM Kirsty had a taste and went home to cook it herself.</div>
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We had a brilliant time at the Wildlife Park. The baboons were busy with new babies, and freaking out about a male mallard that was somehow terribly threatening as he swan serenely around the pond. There were fights over a stick, brawls over getting too close to the babies, sibling jealousy, male posturing and female impatience with all this crap. Pretty much like the rest of us. Except for the mallard phobia, obviously. That was just weird.</div>
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The painted dogs were remarkably laid back in the face of their neighbours' noisy chaos. I'd swear one of them was rolling her eyes, but anthropomorphising is too easy. </div>
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One of my great delights is visiting the polar bears in their 10 acre playground. Polar bears are HUGE. Really, <i>really</i> <b>huge</b>. Not "gosh, that's big" type of beast, more "Holy Geez, look at the the size of him!" It's hard not to want to go in and give them a cuddle, even if they'd eat you - they are gorgeous and hey, a bear's got to eat. You don't get to be the world's largest land carnivore without a heck of an appetite. This is beautifully demonstrated by the sign on the staff entrance to the bear enclosure "Do You Know Where The Bears Are?"</div>
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Victor is my favourite. He's a behemoth of a bear - old, wonderful, father of 10, grandfather of many. He had a lovely swim in his lake and spent a lot of time blowing bubbles because he can. </div>
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I love the capybaras and the maras; if a rabbit and a deer had babies, they'd be maras. For my 40th birthday my Best Woman SJ bought me a hutch and two guinea pigs (Lola and Lotta because they were small and very funny) and it's hard not to see the capybaras as giant free-range guinea pigs, happily bimbling around and dozing in the sun. They *definitely* want a cuddle and a scratch on the back.</div>
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We were delighted to see the tiny baby anteater, Licky Minaj, having a cuddle with her mum then having a little wander in the outside world. She's ridiculously cute. Top work crowd-sourcing the name, YWP. No Anty McAntface for you.<br />
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Our big surprise of the day was discovering that armadillos go jogging. Watching them trot in opposite direction around their well-worn circuit had us transfixed for ages. Sure, the marmosets were cute, and it was exciting last time when they escaped, but jogging armadillos are adorable.<br />
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After our picnic, a visit to the tigers and giraffes, total failure to find the Amur leopards and a pause to admire the black rhino standing to attention, we met with Elvis the Emu. Elvis is under the misapprehension he's an ostrich. No one wants to hurt his feelings, so he lives in the African enclosure and hangs out with the female ostrich who's too polite to say anything. Maybe it's in the name. We adopted a hen called Elvis from my good friend Lisa recently. She and her lads all refer to Elvis as "he" despite Elvis laying eggs daily. Emu, ostrich, boy hen... Live your best lives, Elvis.<br />
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It was a lovely day spent with my best people. Dinner at Salvo's and home again to indulge in another birthday treat - watching the live-action Peter Pan from 2003, which remains one of my favourite film.<br />
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Over coming weeks I've a series of workshops, courses and performances to enjoy as I continue my bid to make this a year I look outwards rather than in. Textile printing, glass work, sewing garments, seeing ballets and shows... 50 has a lot to look forward to.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYyoypJ5TPlRfnH7z7sZpUaxXWFh5gRJOgPTiBBAzEAEs3_1SkHqy2IMy9NWvdP9Mp5G2W9w8gE3WXtsEemMEo24eyAeA0Wr1AW8_BPYqIUTjE5crHO1g16UEmJdirUeqHS6yWuSygOo7c/s1600/IMG_4947.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYyoypJ5TPlRfnH7z7sZpUaxXWFh5gRJOgPTiBBAzEAEs3_1SkHqy2IMy9NWvdP9Mp5G2W9w8gE3WXtsEemMEo24eyAeA0Wr1AW8_BPYqIUTjE5crHO1g16UEmJdirUeqHS6yWuSygOo7c/s320/IMG_4947.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm handsome and I know it</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-15203438402018496022019-03-20T18:27:00.000+00:002019-03-20T18:27:54.362+00:00To the half century.. and beyond!<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Nearly 3 years ago I wrote a list of happiness-inspiring things I'd like to try before the end of the year I turn 50. It all seemed reassuringly far away, I had loads of time to do it all. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">2 years ago I updated my progress, and then completely forgot about it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Last week my mother-inlaw reminded me of my list, and asked if there was anything on it she could facilitate as my birthday present.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm 50 in 3 weeks.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Better get my damned skates on.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Here's the list, which I could add to as I found new things I wanted to do. Those I've done are highlighted with white:</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI5zpXiWL3iOk1YJX11RoVGPib_MhryobmRB_n_tlexgClhA_bf-EAwq5deSVp53HHH55ZjuX8mPi5hmzZI9hyBz-YJCjV8vMXxptsBe1DkaOJQgmDDFcPkbB5wYLp46pqsRJGjzusUYrq/s1600/IMG_3162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI5zpXiWL3iOk1YJX11RoVGPib_MhryobmRB_n_tlexgClhA_bf-EAwq5deSVp53HHH55ZjuX8mPi5hmzZI9hyBz-YJCjV8vMXxptsBe1DkaOJQgmDDFcPkbB5wYLp46pqsRJGjzusUYrq/s320/IMG_3162.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Venice is incredible.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<ol style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: 15.84000015258789px;">
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Go fishing</b> </span></span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>See the Giant's Causeway </b>- Still haven't arranged it</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><b style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Try salsify and Jerusalem artichokes</span></b></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Go rock pooling again </b>- somehow the opportunity hasn't arisen</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Sing in a choir</b> - I'm a wuss. Nearly gone to 5 different ones and always bottle it</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><b style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Grow cut flowers </span></b></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>See live music</b><b> </b></span></span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">Visit Hadrian's Wall</b> </span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Spend all day at the movies</b> </span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Learn to apply make up properly</b><b> </b></span></span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>See the Northern Lights</b> </span></span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Go whale-watching</b> </span></span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">Learn a new range of cooking</b><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Sew something I can wear</b> </span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>See a new ballet company</b> </span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Learn to play a song on an instrument</b> </span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Go birdwatching on the Farne Islands</span> </span></b></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><b style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Return to Paris </span></b></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Cook a decent roast dinner</b> </span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Build sandcastles</b> - not done that in ages, and I like it</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><b style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">See Venice while it's still there</span></b></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b style="background-color: white;">See at least one of the birds on my most wanted list</b> </span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Visit Petra </b>- never going to happen, but it's the ancient wonder I'd most like to see</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Start another business</b></span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><b style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Find a fossil</span></b></li>
</ol>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;">Each of those I have done has given me such a sense of achievement or pleasure. Seeing a Bearded Tit (keep your sniggering to yourself) at St Aiden's wildlife park the other week had me grinning for days - such a tiny bird, and so glorious! Venice was beyond my expectation of beauty and impossibility. Except for the eating of octopi it was perfection itself. (Octopi are probably smarter than we are. It's rude to eat them.)</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipoKHV9L2A4jq5M6qrgSOOO-9hjuqen1EW8KbMpV-g-zyQGLSNUi8U65FGHTk4l19u-lHAUM1yOsZlsWvNmuEioLK1wP4gjTRTjN216W3jukLMS0NxAcWajw5WmkZ3IgrMRCw8P28AzMWg/s1600/IMG_3725.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipoKHV9L2A4jq5M6qrgSOOO-9hjuqen1EW8KbMpV-g-zyQGLSNUi8U65FGHTk4l19u-lHAUM1yOsZlsWvNmuEioLK1wP4gjTRTjN216W3jukLMS0NxAcWajw5WmkZ3IgrMRCw8P28AzMWg/s200/IMG_3725.JPG" width="150" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">weeks of sweetpea bouquets</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 15.84000015258789px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm so glad Mark's mum reminded of my list.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;">Moving forward, I've found a workshop to achieve No.14 at the charming <a href="https://helloworkshop.co.uk/" target="_blank">Hello Workshop</a> in May. If I can make myself a T shirt someday I might be able to make myself jersey tunics, and I LOVE tunics.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;">M's parents are kindly treating me to a train ticket and ticket to see the Royal Ballet in Covent Garden - WOW! - so I can achieve No.15 as well as seeing one of my favourite ballets, Romeo and Juliet. I'm ridiculously excited at the prospect.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;">My parents generously offered money for a trip. I'm clearly <i>horrendously</i> middle aged as I decided I'd rather use it getting new stuff for the garden. Isn't that a lowering thought? It's true though; I spend all my daylight hours outside once the weather is half decent and eat most of my meals in the garden. Replacing our rickety, collapsing table and chairs with something better will give me many more hours of happiness than a weekend break, even if I were visiting the Giant's Causeway or Lisbon or somewhere else wonderful. Being in my marvellous garden is my easiest source of happiness. It's often scruffy but it's wonderful.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;">Obviously the trickiest is to start another business. I loved being self-employed, and I would be delighted to be so again. I need to think of something I can offer that other people would pay me to do. I'd say 'watch this space' but I feel I'd leave you hanging a good while.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;">What should I tackle next? </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;">The music? I have access to a ukulele, guitar, recorder, keyboard and clarinet, but can't play any of them. Probably the wisest "play a song" route is the uke or the keyboard. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;">Finding a veggie/fish - friendly roast dinner to prepare? Mark always does the roasts here. I prefer non-English food myself (if it doesn't start with garlic, why even bother?) so I've not been motivated to learn to do a roast properly with all the trimmings. Actually, asking Mark to teach me how to do it would be fun, we like cooking together... until I remember how critical he is of my knife skills and that I inevitably tell him to sod off about it. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;">Perhaps not.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;">Planning a day at the seaside for rock pooling and castle building is easy enough - I just need the seasons to turn. I'll put a reminder in my diary and arrange it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;">The movie one needs a confluence of events - enough films I'm interested in out at the same time, and not at a manic time of year like Christmas. We used to love our 3-movie days, in our pre-kids life. There are very few mainstream movies of the 90s I haven't seen, unless you include horror. (Remember, I'm a wuss) It would be a lot of fun to ditch being responsible and binge watch films in a cinema again.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;">So, newly inspired to seek out my adventures and about to hit my half century, I'm making plans. I'm not going to stay inside, letting my anxieties dictate the pace of my life. Spring is here and it's time to grow up and grow onwards.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 15.84000015258789px;">I'd really appreciate any suggestions or advice, my lovelies. It's a big world and I do get a bit daunted.</span></span></div>
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Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-35024141274625709642018-10-17T16:09:00.000+01:002018-10-17T16:46:42.398+01:00Time After TimeOctober 7th, 2018. 8pm.<br />
<br />
That's when Doctor Who returned. Well, sort of returned. New face, <i>new sex, </i>new friends, new writers. Probably a new TARDIS, sonic screwdriver and title sequence too. Regenerating in every way and still being the same.<br />
Got to love Doctor Who.<br />
<br />
<br />
In late August the magnitude of my Hamilton overspend hit me; over £450 for one night out.<br />
Oh.<br />
Even in the cheapest of cheap seats, that's 5 tickets, 5 rail tickets to London, 2 hotel rooms needed. That's before dinner, breakfast and lunch for 5 and spending money. I decided to recoup it as best I could. I listed toys on eBay and Facebook, washed and dried many kilos of Lego, looked for anything else of value that wasn't needed. It went well, and I raised a good chunk towards the costs.<br />
<br />
Mark suggested getting rid of a lot of the DVDs and CDs sitting crates in the office. He sold them in a bulk lot, making us over £100, but we all had a check through the boxes to make sure nothing vital was being disposed of.<br />
<br />
The lunatic had only gone and included my DVDs of Doctor Who.<br />
<br />
(Yes, I know they are all online at BBC iPlayer and Netflix, but it's not the same.)<br />
<br />
Rescuing them from the crate, I thought it might be fun to re-watch every episode from Rose through to Twice Upon A Time, in time for the arrival of Jodie Whittaker's Doctor in October. So many great episodes, it will be ace, I thought. There are probably about 60 episodes or something, I can definitely do it. Rose! Donna! Amy and Rory! Angels, Cybermen, Daleks, Ood, Adipose, Silurians! It will be a blast.<br />
<br />
No, Jay, you twonk. There are 166 episodes from Christopher Eccleston's Doctor grabbing Rose's hand and saying "Run" to Peter Capaldi meeting himself in the form of David Bradley in the snow. That's an awful lot of telly viewing to cram into 6 weeks. I didn't start counting until I was already 20 episodes in, and I'd kind of committed to it by then.<br />
<br />
Series One:<br />
Ah, the joys of the Eccleston year. I love this season with all my heart. Eccleston is a delight to watch, Billie Piper converted me from thinking "some vacuous pop pixie" to "I love her forever, even though her mascara scares me". The delightful Captain Jack, the massive story arc in the Buffy style. Sobbing fit as the Doctor kissed Rose and changed. He really was fantastic. It was even more fun than I'd remembered, although I still can't be doing with the Slitheen.<br />
Never did like a fart gag.<br />
<br />
Series Two:<br />
That magical boy from Taking Over The Asylum and Casanova - isn't he a delight? A less than wonderful Christmas special and a few absolute duds (Absorbaloff? seriously? was it a dare?) but my goodness there are some right belters. Werewolves, alternate worlds, the Satan pit, the glory of a Dalek vs Cyberman standoff. I love the humour ("Look at me! I'm a chav") and the glee of this series. Sarah Jane Smith comes back - hurray!<br />
Again, my heart broke. Cried buckets, the sentimental thing that I am. Lots of people hated that but tough luck, cynics. Love and sacrifice are great stories.<br />
<br />
Series Three:<br />
Oh dear, the difficult third album.<br />
Martha drove me nuts the first time because she was mooning about like a lovestruck groupie instead of being smart and focused. Second time around, I wasn't in mourning for lost Rose, so could view her more compassionately. She still got on my wick but I felt she'd had a revelation in the Family Of Blood two-parter; even when the Doctor was free to fall in love, he didn't fall in love <span style="background-color: white;"><i>with</i> </span><i><span style="background-color: white;">h</span>er</i>. I think it finally clicked and she moved on. I did hate the "it was all a dream Pam had, Bobby's really in the shower" bit about rewinding the last couple of years in the final episode, though. It felt stupid.<br />
<br />
Series Four:<br />
The mates.<br />
Donna was a wonderful companion. They were sparring equals, they were drinking buddies, they were glorious. She never once let him get away with ego, and she was fantastic fun. The adorable Adipose - please can I lose weight like that? pretty please? - the Oods, the Daleks, the reappearance of Rose and the gang... one of the strongest series of the lot.<br />
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Series Five:<br />
Amelia Pond, name from a fairy tale.<br />
Matt Smith, a man with insufficient control of his limbs.<br />
I loved the moral quandary of The Beast Below, the Vincent episode was lovely, and obviously Rory is everyone's relationship goal. He's utterly wonderful. Amy is fun and stroppy; James Corden does a corking job as lovelorn Craig in The Lodger.<br />
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Series Six:<br />
Strong start - murdering the Doctor in the first episode.<br />
Unfortunately this series featured very annoying voiceovers in the opening titles that felt like nails on a blackboard every single time. Loved the eeriness of drawing a line on yourself every time you see The Silence, it was properly disturbing. Completely DON'T love the over the top Look How Zany I Am stuff Matt Smith was forced to do. He wasn't so much a Time Lord as a Time Toddler on a sugar rush. Grow up, man, and calm the heck down.<br />
The Rebel Flesh/The Almost People was the best story for me. Mark Bonnar and Marshall Lancaster never fail to charm me, and Raquel Cassidy was superb. It actually made up for the stupid Pirate episode. The Doctor's Wife was brilliant (because OF COURSE Rory is The Pretty One) and the reappearance of Craig with baby Stormaggedon was great fun.<br />
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Series Seven:<br />
Goodbye Amy and Rory, Hello various incarnations of Clara Oswin Osgood.<br />
No stupid voiceover, now a great opening sequence with the Doctor's face, like the 70s and 80s.<br />
Like the sentimental fool I am. I was distraught at Amy and Rory's estrangement, delighted by their reunion, and loved Souffle Girl. Dinosaurs on a Spaceship's only redeeming feature was the accidental kidnapping of Mark Williams as Rory's dad. I actively dreaded Angels Take Manhattan because I knew I'd miss Amy and Rory, and I wasn't wrong.<br />
I didn't take to Clara at all. Sorry.<br />
However, the Cold War episode with the ever-lovely Liam Cunningham was a stand-out episode. I swear I could watch that man read aloud from a phone book and be charmed. Really not fussed on The Great Intelligence and the Trenzalore rubbish. It was entirely too convoluted for my taste.<br />
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Day Of The Doctor<br />
Happy 50th birthday, Doctor Who!<br />
I was at a wedding when this was originally screened. We came home and watched it in the middle of the night, then again the next day. I love it.<br />
John Hurt punctures the manic gibberish of Tennant and Smith magnificently. His calm, weary stillness throws Matt Smith's gurning into stark contrast. I'm as much in love with David Tennant as I ever was; is that man ever anything but charming? I loved the Zygons as they were my first Doctor Who memory as a child and they scared the bejeezus out of me back then. The wonderful Osgood and a reappearance from Billie Piper were marvellous.<br />
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Series Eight:<br />
Look, it's a grownup!<br />
Hello Peter Capaldi, how lovely to see you. Although not as a demented twerp belched from a dinosaur, running around and shouting, having a deeply weird relationship with Clara, and watching the moon hatch. This was a real low point. The moon hatching was definitely the thing that made me most angry, for such a daft reason... It got heavier.<br />
It was an EGG. Eggs don't get heavier, because there is no new matter (ie food) going into it. it's not like a placental mammal, getting nutrients piped in. Eggs containing chicks ready to hatch or wee crocodiles are NOT heavier than when they were laid. It drove me insane.<br />
The overnight forest was also stupid, while I'm having a moan. I did like the Cybermen and Missy, though. Chris Addison as an irksome afterlife civil servant was perfect.<br />
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Series Nine:<br />
The best of times, the worst of times.<br />
I'd totally erased this from my memory, had thought there was a Clara series and a Bill series. Would that it were so.<br />
First up, the good bits: The Christmas Special with Nick Frost as Santa with a pair of bickering elves was a corker. Fun, frightening, made sense (not always a given in the Moffat years) and as festive as it's possible to be. Davros and Missy meant a cracker of an episode in the Dalek city - indeed Missy's dialogue throughout is a joy. "See that couple over there? You're the puppy." Top quality snark, it was great.<br />
Otherwise? hmmm. Clara overstayed as a companion, there really wasn't anything good to do with her. Jenna Coleman was fantastic in Victoria, I honestly don't dislike her as an actress. I did loathe Clara, other than as Souffle Girl, because she was such a cipher. She brought nothing but big eyes and shiny hair to the party. I've missed Amy, River, and especially Donna so much in this series. I felt Moffat had created a character he was in love with, and didn't bother to explain to us why we should love her. RTD *showed* us why we loved Rose and Donna. Clara just stood there and we were expected to see something in her that I didn't.<br />
The other significant character, Ashildr, had some interesting moments but didn't hold together that well (not Maisie Williams's fault, she was great). The only bit that really worked for me was the two of them riding off into space and time together, the long way 'round.<br />
The antepenultimate* Heaven Sent was so nasty I could barely stomach it. The merciless terrifying and torturing of the Doctor again and again, clambering out over his own skulls... just NO. (Luke disagrees, by the way, because he loves a time loop.) I felt like I do when I see Dumbo - complicit in the bullying of someone. For god's sake, Moffat, seek therapy, ditch Clara and move on!<br />
He does move on, and then it gets better.<br />
The Christmas episode that followed the series, The Husbands Of River Song, was marvellous, and the superhero boy in New York for the following Christmas was the sort of episode that made me love the Doctor when I was young.<br />
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Series Ten:<br />
Hello Bill! Love Bill, me.<br />
This was the Doctor Capaldi was meant to be. He's fantastic - he looks at ease with himself in the role at last and his band of Bill, Nardole and Missy sparked off each other beautifully. The Pilot was a wonderful start, the emoji robots were suitably menacing, I love any excuse for a Frost Fair, and the final battles with Missy and The Master were super. I loved that they went to look for the lost Ninth Legion to settle an argument (although Kar being the reason crows saw Caw was stupid and irksome). A few sluggish episodes but on the whole a massive return to form. I even got over a smidge of my Moffat-dislike. I don't think he's terribly good at writing women except in relation to men, so Bill was a refreshing change.<br />
I'm also glad so many got a happy ending - Nardole with his Hazran, Bill with Heather and in a funny way, the Master and Missy destroying each other.<br />
The final episode, featuring the masterful David Bradley as the First Doctor in a reprisal of his role as William Hartnell in An Adventure In Space And Time, was a stonking way to acknowledge the origins and prepare for the future of one of the most loved television characters in the world. And the more <span style="background-color: white;">TARDISes </span>the better, in my opinion.<br />
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And there we have it - ten series and many specials in 6 weeks.<br />
<br />
I finished with a whole 27 minutes to go before the new series started (I'm the kind of gal who likes to live on the edge**). Thrust headlong into a new adventure, enjoying the full exploration of 'Lots of planets have a North' through the Sheffield setting, revelling in the first female Doctor engineering her own sonic screwdriver instead of having one gifted by the <span style="background-color: white;">TARDIS. </span>I couldn't be more chuffed.<br />
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All that, and it's nearly time to use those Hamilton tickets!<br />
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*Isn't that such a delightful word!<br />
**If you haven't watched Rob Reiner's film The Sure Thing, you should do it immediatelyJayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-46031815872276063912018-09-19T11:51:00.000+01:002018-09-19T11:51:38.736+01:00A bit of a catch-upAs Storm Ali turns my tree into a Whomping Willow, I'm hunkering down inside. The chimney and the window gaps are making spooky noises and the animals are jumpy so I'm banishing the eerie atmosphere with smells of spices and cooking vegetables. I have pans of pulses simmering, batch cooking underway. <div>
Next Week Me will be very grateful.</div>
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The younger two are back at school and thriving. Z is in Sixth Form and absolutely loves his courses. He's so full of enthusiasm, I do love to see that. He's also exhausted - lots of work! Miss B is about to go on one of the highlights of her secondary school experience - the Year 8 trip to Butlins Skegness with the whole year group. 300 kids taking over the place for a week, living in apartments with their friends and having an incredible range of activities and workshops put on for them. I know she'll love it and throw herself into everything.<br /><div>
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Familial relations have broken down still further amongst our feline residents. Ferris Mewller has ceased coming home entirely, even when his adopted family went away. I looked for him and called for him, but he refuses to enter the garden, never mind the house. He hisses at us when we try bring him inside and ignores offers of food. </div>
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I miss my special lad, he was very much My Cat (or I was very much His Person) until I ruined things by bringing Gonzo to live with us.</div>
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Poor Isaac Mewton is suffering too. Gonzo's only 2 years old and he's ENORMOUS. He is the alpha cat now; eats all the food, fights with Isaac every time they are together. He's a thug - bites Isaac while he sleeps, claims every sleeping place Isaac prefers. This morning they were fighting on opposite sides of a glass door for heaven's sake - it's madness. I have to chuck Gonzo outside and feed Isaac separately; they work the house on a timeshare system.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm definitely not the cause of any trouble</td></tr>
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This autumn I can appreciate the advance planning of Winter and Spring Me, as all those events I booked tickets for are finally coming around. We have a lot of standup comedy to look forward to, some workshops, activism, Yarndale, theatre, music, a meal at a Michelin starred place we've been looking forward to, and of course the mighty <a href="https://hamiltonmusical.com/london/" target="_blank">Hamilton</a>. It's lovely having all these things on the horizon. I start getting tense about the coming dark months around now, and having so many interesting things to focus on is such a help.</div>
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I've not done a great deal of crafting for a long while. This year I have been focusing on cooking new things, expanding our meal choices and overcoming my unease at cooking with meat. I don't eat meat myself much (pastrami and pancetta are my exceptions because they don't have the texture that puts me off) and I've always hated handling it. However, the point of a blog called Fearlessly Attempting is to have a go at stuff that made me nervous.</div>
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I've done <a href="https://www.isabeleats.com/mexican-slow-cooker-pork-carnitas-tacos/" target="_blank">pulled pork</a>, poached chicken, pork loin steaks, cooking meals with mince, chicken curries, meatballs, fajitas. I still hate the smell, especially of the fatty meats like the pulled pork, but the successes of getting B to try more food combined with how delighted Z is with the meals makes it worth it.</div>
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As well as the many Indian recipes from <a href="http://meerasodha.com/" target="_blank">Meera Sodha's</a> wonderful books, I've done more Mexican influenced food too. (OK, TexMex, and not remotely authentic, but tasty anyway!). There have been <a href="http://www.foodnetwork.co.uk/recipes/refried-black-beans.html?utm_source=foodnetwork.com&utm_medium=domestic" target="_blank">refried beans</a> with additional chillies, spicy tomato and paprika rice with onions and peppers, guacamoles and fresh salsas. Pulled jackfruit was pretty good, although at heart I do prefer a veggie chilli. Miss B and Z like tacos and wraps, Mark prefers a plate, and I don't care as long as I get to eat it.</div>
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Of course, having settled down to type what I've been up to, I've completely lost track of time. I am dragged back to painful reality by the acrid smell of a pan burnt dry.</div>
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Aw hell.</div>
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That's going to take a lot of scrubbing to make it useable.</div>
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No refried beans today. </div>
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Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-67335212229829981212018-08-05T14:42:00.002+01:002018-08-05T14:50:16.837+01:00In a pickleOne of the things I missed most when I moved to the UK as a kid was the lack of dill pickles. The lack of good food generally, come to think of it. Sure, the chocolate was better and you get a lovely cup of tea, but the food was almost uniformly lousy, the pizza were <i>appalling</i> and you couldn't even get a nice crisp dill pickle to liven up your sandwich.<br />
<br />
The North Wales culinary landscape was pretty miserable in 1985.<br />
<br />
Things are much improved. However, I still find the dill pickles a bit hit and miss. Too sweet a lot of the time, or too floppy, or just a bit 'meh'. So I'm making my own.<br />
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As I'm not sure how they will turn out, I'm starting with two different recipes.<br />
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My new friend-of-a-friend-via-Facebook, the very ace Lisa D, suggested t<a href="https://smittenkitchen.com/2014/07/easiest-fridge-dill-pickles/" target="_blank">his particular recipe</a>. She's an ex-pat Canadian with excellent taste in many things (i.e. we agree with each other) so that's my first attempt.<br />
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Refrigerator pickles aren't proper preserves; they are only good for 2-3 weeks. I'm not sure how many pickles I'll need in that short a time, so I'm only trying one jar for this one. What I have in the cupboard is a much smaller jar than the recipe uses so I've halved the amount of vinegar. I'm using a generous sprig of fresh dill, a peeled clove of garlic (because I like it) and a teaspoon of sea salt. I've sliced the pickles about pound-coin thickness because I prefer them thicker than her wafer thin style. <br />
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It takes about 3 minutes to do, and is an absolute doddle. If these are good I'm going to be delighted.<br />
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I liked the idea of longer-lasting pickles too, so I'm doing a more <a href="https://www.tasteofhome.com/recipes/grandma-s-dill-pickles/" target="_blank">traditional recipe</a> with the majority of jars.<br />
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Unlike the massive farms these people seem to have, producing kilo after kilo of cucumbers that require industrial scales of production, I have one plant that escaped the slugs. Downsizing needed.<br />
I swapped the unit of measurement from 1 cup to 1/4 of a cup, and kept proportions the same. so: 1/4 cup table salt, 1 1/4 cups of water, 2 3/4 cups of white wine vinegar, simmered for 10 minutes to dissolve the salt. I put a large sprig of fresh dill, peeled garlic and one fresh chilli pepper (also from the garden) in each jar before stuffing them as full of cucumber as possible.<br />
Because my cucumbers aren't a specific "for pickling" cultivar, they do have more seeds than is usual for dill pickle. I'm doing some jars with slices and some with spears that I've trimmed the seeds from to see if that keeps them crunchier.<br />
I also read on a number of recipe sites that the blossom end of the cucumber contains enzymes that make it go floppy, so I followed that advice too and trimmed the ends off.<br />
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To allow the pickles to last long term, I put all the jars on a folded tea towel in my big stock pot, covered them with boiling water and simmered for 15 minutes. The Internet assures me that will work just as well as a pressurised canner (and obviously the Internet is always factual - ha!) so that's what I did. <br />
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When I lifted the jars out (carefully) I could see one wasn't sealed properly so we'll not store that one and eat it soon. The other 4 looked much better, bulging because of the heat, contracting to a vacuum seal as they cooled. They are the duller green I associate with pickles, and I'm very much looking forward to trying them! A shame I have to wait about a month before opening them - I promise I'll update you.</div>
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Having been away for 12 days, I had rather a glut of produce to deal with. I have now washed, trimmed, blanched and frozen over 4kg of French beans, swapped 2 dozen quail eggs for courgette to make <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/wordofmouth/2016/aug/25/how-to-cook-perfect-courgette-fritters-recipe" target="_blank">fritters</a>, and enjoyed salads of tiny tomatoes with red onion.</div>
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I know I say it a lot, but I really do love my garden.</div>
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<br />Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-50148604347161897982018-06-11T18:00:00.000+01:002018-06-11T18:00:00.791+01:00Is there a statute of limitations in Florida?11 years ago I committed a crime.<br />
Recently, I admitted it to someone I only via Twitter. Only she and my eldest knew what I'd done.<br />
That felt awkward, so I have since 'fessed up to a Very Excellent Mate and then my other half.<br />
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Ladies and gentlemen, I am a thief.<br />
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In April 2007 we went to Orlando for a family holiday. It was brilliant, we all had a superb time. Theme parks, swimming, NASA, terrible food, brilliant weather - it was a marvellous trip.<br />
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Luke was 8 at the time and VERY MUCH deep in his Lego obsession. Lego in the US is vastly less expensive than Lego in the UK and Luke had saved accordingly. In fact, both times we had an entire suitcase full of Lego on the return journey. It's a good thing we pack light.<br />
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In 2007 the ability to make personalised minifigs was unheard of in the UK. The Lego shop in Orlando had a station (as does Leeds now) where you could assemble 3 minifigs and buy them. You could choose one accessory to go with it and mix and match hair/hat, heads, bodies, legs as suited you. Alien firefighter carrying flowers? You've got it. Mermaid wearing a chef's hat and carrying a fish? You bet. Go wild!<br />
Coolest. Concept. Ever.<br />
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Luke made his 3 figures and proceeded with Mark to the till. I messed about with minifigs whilst toddler B dozed in the pushchair.<br />
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Being an ENORMOUS and wonderfully stocked building station, there were more combinations than I've ever seen before or since. I was having a wonderful time.<br />
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Back then I dyed my hair various shades of red or burgundy. I had a bob. I love bright red lipstick, always have. I used an online moniker with the surname Reckless, the ACTUAL name of one of Mark's ancestors. It's a brilliant name, makes me think of a saloon keeper or pirate queen.<br />
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Faffing about, I made myself a red-haired pirate minifig with a sword in one hand and a wine goblet in the other. She was PERFECT. I had to have her.<br />
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Wait a minute - I had TWO accessories, and you're only allowed one. And I don't want two other minifigs to fill a pack; I'd already created the greatest one possible.<br />
Also, she is a <b><i>pirate</i></b>. You can't purchase a pirate, that's not how piracy works. It's un-piratical.<br />
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Readers, I stole her.<br />
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Later on, Mark said "I didn't see you at the till, when did you buy that?"<br />
Umm... Little Luke and Zach, 8 and 5 years old, were right there with us. Able to hear every word.<br />
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I compounded my sin by lying to my partner of 31 years... "While you were dealing with the kids."<br />
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My pirate alter-ego stands on my shelf next to the coffee mat and my stack of books-I'm-still-reading. She's my avatar online. She's still the greatest minifig I've ever seen, although I need to find a grey-haired bob for her one of these days.<br />
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It's nice to have a partner in crime.</div>
<br />Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-57331322561887403012018-06-09T17:53:00.000+01:002018-06-09T20:05:44.404+01:00Talk is cheap (but remarkably effective)<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Loquacious. Verbose. Garrulous. Gabby. Gobby. Can talk the hind leg off a donkey.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Have you met me face to face yet?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I talk all the time, to pretty much everyone. Actually, I talk to non-people too. The animals (obviously) the plants (Aren't you doing well! good on you), the appliances ("Don't you DARE burn my bagel, you rotter"), the timer ("Oh, belt up, I heard you the first time!). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I started as a chatty toddler at an extremely early age and haven't shut up since. This can be useful, friendly, charming, wearing, crass, irksome or bloody annoying depending on one's mood and temperament.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On Thursday, my Best Woman SJ, my Very Ace Mate Kirsty and I went to the RHS Show at Chatsworth. The sun was shining, the flowers and gardens were glorious, the picnic was extensive and delicious. It was an absolutely wonderful day - as are all my days out with SJ. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There's always a section of food and drink stalls. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For the last 5 years gin kiosks have been A Big Thing. (Before that flavoured vodka, before that whisky, and the “new” thing on the rise is rum). As usual we have a fair few tiny samples (Mason Gin from Yorkshire d</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">oes a lovely Lavender gin, and I don't generally like floral stuff. There was a lovely baked apple and almond moonshine as well.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Moving ahead of me as I tasted a mature cheddar (a bit dull), Kirsty called me over to see the product on a stall a few metres along.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />It was a Scottish gin in a really beautiful ceramic jug. Lovely stoneware, a real heft to it. I went to look, and a couple of women already there were making a purchase. They told me to definitely try it, it’s lush.<br />I said it was the gorgeous bottle that attracted me, and we chatted a bit about the things we'd sampled while the seller got the card payment ready.<br />Paying for their gin, they were offered a free empty bottle “to use as a vase or make a lamp”<br />They said No<br />I asked the salesperson “how much is it for one of the empty bottles?"<br />She did a snooty face.<br />“One is free <b><i>when you purchase a bottle of gin</i></b>” (you ghastly peasant)<br />Oh, ok.<br />My new gin-tasting friend said “I’ve changed my mind. I’d like an empty, please!”<br />As the salesperson passed it to her she said “I’m sharing the happiness “ and passed it straight to me, smiling broadly.<br />The salesperson looked like she’d sucked a lemon. I was chuffed to bits.<br /><br />When I showed it to Kirsty she started laughing. "How does this happen with you? This never happens to me, and it happens to you all the time!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She's right, it does.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I talk to people. I chat away, all friendly and open. Sometimes it's annoying, sometimes people are abrupt or ignore me, but mostly people are friendly back. On the whole, I think people like an opportunity to connect. Sure, not everyone likes an extrovert but enough people do that it's worth being friendly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />I also got a photo with Joe Swift, my absolute favourite of the Gardener's World team. (They were filming for a segment on the programme.)<br />We saw him around and about while we were enjoying the show.<br />Clearly the RHS aren’t a selfie crowd, but lots of people were taking surreptitious photos.<br />A little later we saw him by a stand, waiting while the crew were sorting the technical bits.<br />I said to him and the production assistant “while you are still setting up, could I possibly have a quick photo with Joe? Would you mind?”<br />She said “no problem “ and Joe said “what do you mean?”<br />I took that as a yes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(Of course I did!)<br />She used my phone for a photo. Joe said “OOOOOOHHHHH. Setting up! Of course! I thought you said ‘sitting up’ and thought I’m not that old, of course I can sit up!”<br />I laughed and said, “while you can hear me, Hiya Joe, I’m Jay and I’m delighted to meet you.“<br />“Lovely to meet you too, and enjoy your day”<br />As I rejoined Kirsty and SJ I noticed some people in the crowd shooting me funny looks - it seemed a bit "how dare she," or at least "how rude." But heck, I saw a nice person I wanted to meet, he was standing at a loose end for a moment and I asked politely.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Y'know, using my words.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And that worked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Chatting. It's an under-appreciated skill.</span><br />
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<br />Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-35011830367415728472018-04-29T16:48:00.000+01:002018-04-29T17:46:33.870+01:00The happiness of being a fanI am a fan. A proper, fully-fledged, deeply uncool and overenthusiastic fan.<br />
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I get all excited - during the trailer for the new Mary Poppins film I actually squealed out loud in the cinema because I saw Lin-Manuel Miranda. I have release dates for telly shows and books in my calendar. I fall in love with things at the drop of a hat.</div>
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Mark is not a fan. He likes stuff - sometimes he loves stuff. He has books, games, films and bands he really enjoys. He is measured in his enthusiasm, doesn't wig out in exuberant excitement. This can make it awfully hard to buy him presents - who knows what he'd really like? - but it definitely makes him easy to live with. He's much steadier than I am.</div>
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But I do feel all non-fan people are missing out. There's something about that pure joy, throwing yourself into something and utterly loving it. Surrendering to the uncool, being the antithesis of cynical, being a bit absurd and really not minding at all.</div>
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My principle fangirl obsession at the moment is the work of Lin-Manuel Miranda. Since I first watched Moana, the glorious song You're Welcome (as performed by the most enthusiastic human on the planet, The Rock) has been one of my favourites. It's lyrically adept, full of charm, self-delusion, cheekiness and fun. In our house it's The Mum Summoner - Luke put it on YouTube loudly in the living room when I was messing about in the kitchen and he wanted my attention and as predicted I dropped everything and rushed into the room. Now they all do it.</div>
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I can't help it, You're Welcome makes me very happy. And it sure beats someone bellowing MUUUUUUUM to attract my attention.</div>
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Some months later my Very Excellent Mate Alison mentioned they had pre-registered for Hamilton tickets because her kids were obsessed with it. I was bemused - to me Hamilton is a declining steel city in Ontario and not exactly the thing shows are made of. (<i>Except maybe a Canuck Full Monty, I guess.) </i> However, Alison's gang have outstanding taste and have introduced me to good things over the years so I thought I'd have a listen. I didn't realise it was by the person who wrote The Mum Summoner. I knew nothing of the historical figure. That was 14 months ago.</div>
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"How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman..." I was hooked from the opening line.</div>
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Not a week goes by that I don't play it. (OK, it's nearly daily.) Zach knows every single word of the 2.5 hour set, bless his ace self, and I know a hell of a lot. I never get bored of it. I find new nuances, call-backs, witticisms, and clever touches each time. I still cry. I think Daveed Diggs is brilliant, Thomas Jefferson was a Grade-A asshole, Lin himself is clearly a genius and I'm with Angelica, I want Women in the sequel (Work!)</div>
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I have to actively remind myself to play other stuff because I know the rest of the house wants a bit of variety. Tom Petty and the Hamilton soundtrack is pretty much all I need. I'm almost afraid of seeing it live in October because I know and love the Broadway recording so well. But I'm also incredibly excited that we ARE seeing it eventually. </div>
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I am also a massive fan of Springwatch. To the frustration of my offspring - who would rather watch paint dry - I watch every single second of every series. Sometimes I watch twice because there was a cool bit. I follow what else the presenters are up to, mark the transmission dates in my calendar so I don't miss anything.</div>
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I look up the places they visit. It was Iolo waxing lyrical about the Farne Islands that had me desperate to go. Seeing the nesting puffins and terns was so brilliant I still bounce on my toes when I think of our trip last June - absolutely glorious. </div>
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Other telly I am a big fan of: The Wire and Game of Thrones, both of which I have watched all the way through numerous times. It's the complexity of the stories, I'm transfixed. Because I go to the beginning each time a new series comes out I can nearly do Season 1 of GOT by heart. I am still angry that one of my very favourite characters didn't even exist in the books, making them even more turgid to read. Roz is AWESOME, damn it.</div>
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Then there's the Regency novels of Georgette Heyer which I re-read several times a year. I'm VERY good on obscure trivia from the Heyer world. I love the period language, the daft habit of naming people after towns, that the heroes having grey eyes and the heroines frequently wear celestial blue gowns with silver spider-gauze. I love that Lady of Quality and Black Sheep are basically the same novel and I enjoy both versions anyway. I love that I'm on my third copy of Frederica because the earlier ones have fallen apart.</div>
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Being a fan, however you express it, is a force for good. Conventions where you hang out with other fans, online discussion groups, reading and re-reading, watching and re-watching, singing at the top of your voice whether or not you're any good, allowing the stories to sweep you away or the music to become the soundtrack of your life - to hell with a cynical, bitter and depressing world. I fully recommend opening our arms and hearts to something that makes us properly happy. </div>
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You're welcome.</div>
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xx</div>
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Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-6225375600923383522018-04-17T11:13:00.004+01:002018-04-17T11:13:43.827+01:00Not my favourite dayI am a fortunate soul. I have a wonderful family, I know many amazing and inspiring people, we can afford (just about) for me to work for free at things that matter to me. I have far too many animals and a veg garden prone to flooding but that's OK.<br />
And I love my city very much indeed.<br />
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However, sometimes it all goes a bit tits up. Yesterday was one of those days.<br />
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First of all - women, cross your legs. My apologies for this bit.<br />
Today I had my 3-yearly cervical smear test. Like every woman in the country of screening age, I received the notification letter with a glum sigh. Yes, I know we have to do it, it's the smart course of action but still...<br />
I procrastinated just long enough to side-step the Easter school holidays and scheduled it for first thing on a Monday. "get it over with first thing."<br />
The speculum isn't exactly comfortable and I actively dread the click...click...click noises they open it.<br />
Unfortunately, the nurse was inexperienced.<br />
(I did warn you to cross your legs)<br />
She's a total poppet. She's warm, friendly, kind, well-meaning and has a terrific manner with patients. She has the sparkly blue eyes of an old Hollywood movie star. She's great at taking blood and doing inoculations. She's just not quite got the hang of cervical smears.<br />
Yet.<br />
It took 8 goes.<br />
EIGHT.<br />
I had to ask her to stop, I couldn't take it anymore.<br />
She fetched an experienced nurse who sorted it - without pain - in 2 minutes.<br />
Talking to one of my Very Excellent Mates afterwards, she'd had the same nurse with a similar result (fewer tries, more bleeding).<br />
Ick.<br />
I thought that was the worst my week would be. Everything's on the up from that, surely.<br />
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After dropping Z's forgotten lunch at school and buying the approved summer uniform polo shirts at the shop down the road, I drove to work on my lovely Vespa.<br />
The roads are generally quiet at that time of day but a combination of road works, building works and changed lane marking mean a couple of sections are more awkward than usual. This resulted in the cars in the lanes either side of me simultaneously deciding to be in my lane, which they did without indicating and seemingly without noticing me on my scooter. Cars in front and behind, and moving in from either side - adrenaline spike! Luckily the car behind blasted its horn and they both swerved back into their lanes. People tell me scooters are dangerous. My experience is that no, it's dozy car drivers that are dangerous.<br />
After that burst of <strike>near death</strike> excitement I went to the marvellous Play Lab.<br />
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Play Lab is a pop-up play space in the centre of the city. It's brilliant and if you are local to Leeds do come ad see us. It's on New York street opposite the post office, on the road down Kirkgate Market that leads to the multi-story carpark and the bus station. We're there 10-4 every day, sometimes later as well.<br />
We have an empty shop that we've filled with Lego, toys, pillows, hula hoops, craft bits and a visiting coffee shop. We've pompom makers, chalks, markers and paper, stuff for den building, plenty to mess about with. That's the drop-in-and-play bit, totally free.<br />
Downstairs we run workshops and inventors clubs to get kids exploring what they can build and create. It's flipping lovely.<br />
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I'm acting as a self-appointed intern at this community-based project. It was clear to me the founder, Emma Bearman, couldn't possibly manage all her plans with the workforce she had funding for, so I nominated myself. I do a few days a week - mostly just being there to welcome people, help kids with activities, do the odd errand, clear up and so on. Having an extra body to (wo)man the play space can be a help. It's very rewarding, if occasionally very noisy!<br />
After a 4.5 hour shift I locked up and headed across town to collect a book from Waterstone's. My arthritis hasn't been great, so I was walking awkwardly and was jostled a couple of times. I put that down to my clumsiness.<br />
When I got to Waterstone's and went to pay, I discovered my wallet was missing. On the unlikely chance I'd left it at work, I went back to Play Lab and searched for it. No wallet. I'd definitely had it when I bought those school shirts. I definitely had it when I tucked it in my cotton shopping bag when I got to Play Lab, and tucked it out of sight in the back of the cubby under the motorbike jacket.<br />
There wasn't a lot in it - frustrating things to replace like loyalty cards, membership cards, drivers licence, credit and debit cards, and a couple of gift vouchers. Things I'll now have to reset on all websites I buy from. Hoops to go through because I bought out Hamilton the musical tickets with that card and I need it to collect the tickets.<br />
Oh, and two really nice commemorative £2 coins in the separate compartment for my coin collection<br />
<i>(I know, I know, coin collecting is lame. Don't judge me. I've had a rough day.)</i><br />
I'd been pickpocketed on my way through town.<br />
That pretty much broke me.<br />
It was such a crappy thing to happen, with so little advantage to whomever stole the wallet. It had been a really lousy morning followed by a nerve-wracking commute, a lovely but draining shift with my bad knees and now lots of inconvenience and frustration, as well as costing me about £50 to replace things.<br />
I sang fed up songs on my way home (thanks to Lily Allen and Belle and Sebastian for their excellent work in this field), felt thoroughly narked with the world and went to bed early feeling drained.<br />
Monday the 16th can piss right off.<br />
So here I am on Tuesday.<br />
I have an open bouquet of daffodils on my kitchen counter., which is enough to brighten my day. Yes, living in a city means there is crime and it's damned annoying when it happens to you. However, living in the city also means there are amazing things like Play Lab, providing a warm and welcoming space for families. There are large bookshops like my lovely Waterstone's, and fun places to go like my beloved Everyman cinema. There are Kirkgate Market traders who call out and wave when I go by, friends to commiserate with when rotten things happen, and thousands of connections and intersections of communities that make life richer.<br />
I'm shaking off yesterday and looking forward to tomorrow. There are rumours of sunshine.<br />
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<br />Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828752232604811539.post-85789351538311219632017-11-01T09:27:00.000+00:002017-11-01T09:27:21.585+00:00Further Adventures in YarnLast month I went to the 5th Yarndale festival of all things woolly. If possible, it was better than the earlier years, as the logistics are managed with even more careful planning and the range of stalls on offer grows ever wider.<br />
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I felt a bit of a fraud, as I had entirely lost my crafting mojo in the crushing depression of last autumn and winter. I hadn't finished any of the projects I'd begun after last year's purchases, and they lurk in the other room, oppressing me with guilt whenever I see them. If I still had those things to finish, what business did I have shopping for new projects?</div>
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However, I hoped a nice wander around amongst the crafty women, surrounded by beautiful things in vivid colours would inspire me. If nothing else it would be a chance for my Very Excellent Mate Rachel to come for a visit.</div>
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I needn't have worried. A quiet train ride and chatty bus ride on the Yarndale Express built my excitement, as did the gloriously yarn-bombed show area. I love the bonkers souls who send in bunting, mandalas, flowers, sheep and hearts each year to turn an agricultural building into a Mecca of yarn and bright colours. I did find my crocheted heart among the display somewhere.</div>
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There are so many people wearing their own creations; some are true works of art. Others resemble the output of fevered minds with access to too many colours, but at least they are happy. A sneaky game of "just because you can doesn't mean you should" keeps Rach and I entertained for hours. Crocheted granny square trousers were definitely a sartorial step too far.</div>
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I found loads of lovely things and small (ish) projects to try. I've had to crop the photo as there was a Christmas present amongst my purchases, so I can't show you absolutely everything. I also held back from purchasing the *GREATEST* book of crochet patterns I've ever seen, the Toft book of crocheted people and costumes. I knew I have no time to do that level of project just yet, but it was so brilliantly laid out I was sorely tempted.</div>
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I'm learning Corner to Corner crochet to to use one of the beautiful self-coloured yarns I couldn't resist. This proved to be a bit complicated - being left handed so having to reverse everything when I'm struggling to picture how it goes can sometimes send me into a tailspin, and I had to undo about a third of my work when I realised where I'd first gone wrong, making it bigger and bigger every row. Then I messed up the decreasing bit too much and had to redo another sizeable chunk, with fine yarn that snagged and broke. </div>
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However, I think I've *finally* got a handle on it. The trick for a rectangular scarf is to chain 6 as you start a row from the top of the diagonal row and to slipstitch and chain three when you start a row from the bottom of the diagonal - increase as you go downhill, decrease as you go uphill, like riding a bike.<br />
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And here it is, modelled by its discerning owner:<br />
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Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17981970866976353584noreply@blogger.com0